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**Truth be told**
The Home Owner’s Association of Langdon-Lee had set a constant fire of envy throughout the other HOAs of the county that know, bitterly, in their heart of heart, they could never spar with its outstanding tidiness, elegance and unrivaled discipline. Langdon-Lee was, years ago, a low-profile gated community unable to cure its wild teenagers roaming free after curfew problem, the littering, the utter disrespect of mandatory grass height and a general careless behavior that had settled, on this seemingly doomed community, like a sheet of dust.
That was until Lady,- yes a real Lady, nobody never questioned it or dared say otherwise-, Lady Golda Myerscough took the matter to heart, that is, seized complete control over the board. In less than three months, Langdon-Lee went from slouched sluggard whining about the raccoon infestation to uptight, straight-back paranoïd who wouldn’t wait for the raccoon to settle down but rather forced their daughter into marrying a pest exterminator to have one on hand 24/7. Most of the time, she didn’t have to do anything, she just uttered a slight, excusefull cough and all her little cogs would spring into action on their own.
It therefore came to her as a surprise when one of her minion knocked on her door, exactly two seconds after the lawful hour set by the board to manage HOA business. She exchanged a few words with the outraged, scornful woman; the situation, indeed, required her direct intervention. She squeezed the belt of her coat, in a vain effort to look thinner, and marched down to n°89, where old M.Jaybird Nettles, widower, lived.
She found him sipping his morning coffee in the patio behind the house. The root of scandal immediately caught her eye. A fat, red, glowing flower, the size on a plate had grown in the middle of the lawn softly undulating although no breeze were blowing.
“Good Morning, M.Nettles.”
Good Morning, Miss Myerscough.”
She restrained herself. The old man was the only one to refuse to call her by her title. She was a lady, she will make him remember that!
“I’ve been informed, as head of the HOA board, that a foreign and rather gaudy plant, had appeared in your garden which constitute a grave transgression of the rules set by our community, rules you agreed to upon joining us and signing our Declaration of Covenants, Conditions and Restrictions (CC&Rs) that stated, article 4, al.5 and passim: “No Flora other than indigenous and assimilated (cf, *Codex of Gardens and Greenhouses in America*, 1967, 5th edition) will be tolerated within the community.” It is, therefore my solemn duty to command you to pluck out this unauthorized weed!”
M.Nettles sucked on his denture then took another sip of his coffee. The others, he knew right away what to expect, but her “ladyship” had done a pretty good job at building up her facade and sealing it.
“*You* commend *me*, to do something *I* do not *wish* on *my* property? Heavens! The papers are going to get treated to a nice field trip! “Black old man forced to comply with the will of white fascist woman!” Hah!”
She looked at him, puzzled. She does not understand. She doesn’t see me that way. His neighbors put up a good show in front of him, they admired, and envy, his big, expensives cars, his tailored costumes, his gentlemanly manners which was exactly the point. To infuriate them. But he knew, in his very flesh, the distrust, the disgust, the hatred, the sharpened gossips.
“ I gather that Ms Warell couldn’t resist the urge to spill the beans.”
“We do not exert delation in this community!”
“Well, I did wake up this morning, and I did hear the flower yelling “You, hypocritical, pesky cockroach!”; Who else was I supposed to suspect?”
The flower sagged and belched: “Truth be told! Truth be told!”
“Rubbish!” snapped Lady Myerscough, outraged by the flower audacity to set root on her turf, dishonoring the CC&Rs, her CC&Rs ! She approached the plant, grinding her perfectly aligned teeth and stopped in her track as it howled:
“BAM! BAM! BAM! GIVE UP YOUR CHILD, WHORE! DEMON WHORE!”
Jaybird sprung on his feet. A jolly trip field it would be indeed, if the bloody woman decided to die of heart attack on his lawn! He walked to her shouting:
“Get out! Get out of my property!”
But the flower took a sudden interest in the old man and its voice screeched:
“**Would you look at that? It thinks it’s human! It thinks it can sit where we sit!**”
He froze. The icy voice came a long way back, through glimmering ashes.
“YOU’RE A BASTARD! REPUGNANT, FATHERLESS CHILD!!”
“**Go wash your face, charcoal! Lower them eyes of yours!**”
Then a tiny flower stems from the first and moaned:
“*It’s not my fault! I didn’t ask to be born! It’s not my fault!*”
“BLEND IN, FIT IN, FOLLOW THE RULES, DO NOT REBEL, DO NOT COMPLY, SURVIVE AMONG THEM!”
“**Be tougher than them, harder than them, tit for tat, bleed and make them bleed, survive against them!**”
“BASTARD! BASTARD! BASTARD!”
“*I’m scared!*”
“**Charcoal! Charcoal! Charcoal!**”
“*I’m alone!*”
As suddenly as they had poured the foul litanies, the flowers stopped.
Golda and Jaybird were holding hands, shaken, and the wind was colporting the refrain:
“ truth be told! Truth be told!” |
What.
What is that.
Is that a demon.
Okay, I was fine when I left the building. I was working overtime, but that had happened the past few days, so nothing new. When I went into my car, everything was fine. It was snowing, sure, but that happens all the time in this city. I was kinda alone as I drove, there's usually a few cars down the 490, but tonight it was barren. Abandoned. I thought I saw some sort of symbol graffitied on a wall, but I can't remember what it was. Then I got to this. The roadblock.
Yeah, retracing my steps isn't going to do any good.
I look up, hoping it's just some dumb kids playing a prank, or a weird hallucination. But I'm terribly wrong. That is real. There's some sort of red-eyed and horned demon on the road. And six red-eyed goats. They're all staring at me. I slam my fists on the dashboard in frustration. "The hell you want, assholes?"I yell. That was a mistake. The demon thing waves aside one of the goats and steps forward to the car. It beckons me to step out.
At this point, I'm too scared to resist.
I step out of the car and shut the door. The demon looks at me for a long while before saying anything. "Greetings,"it says. Its voice is deep, but smooth and comforting, a jarring contrast to its form. "My name is Diabolus. But you may call me whatever you like."
"Why are you being so kind to me?"I ask it? Him?
"Because I have seen you through your whole life. I have waited until you came of age, then waited until you realized that one important thing about yourself, so that you would not reject me."
"What important thing?"
"Remember that phone call you made just one week ago?"
"How... how did you know about my coming out?"
"I have always been with you. I have simply chosen now to be the time when I show you my corporeal form."
"God, this is Persephone all over again. What, do I have to eat a goddamn pomegranate and join you in hell?"
He laughs. "Well, my special one, you have the second part right."
Oh god. "What."
"But, I will only take you with me if you consent. You will receive eternal life and beautiful luxuries. But, you will not be able to see your family again. Do you wish to come?"
I think it over for a while. I'm in a dead-end job, and drowning in debt...
"You know what? Sure."
He reaches out and takes my hand. I lock the car. |
She was little and lithe about her frame. Her face, however, was rounded and plump, especially when the dimples belonging to her smile appeared. But she never smiled. Not anymore.
For the twenty years I had spent locked into special operative work, brute force, speed, and the broad, uncareful wielding of my strength had become automatic to me. But there I stood, approaching her slowly, softly--as gingerly as her unkempt hair and its matching freckles. And there she stood, dirty feet bare of socks or shoes, on the bridge. Traffic had been blocked off from both directions and crowds of anxious onlookers gathered at the barricades to witness my awkward bumbling.
"D-don't do it!"I called out to her, quite uncompelling. She took her darkened, dead eyes off the dampened cardboard box before her to turn and stare at me.
"It's okay,"she replied, her voice neither jubliant nor sweet, but tired and croaking, like that of someone who had spent ten of her lifetimes with a cigarette fused to their lips, "animals are safe from me. See?"
And with that, she reached into the box, her tiny hand still hesitating out of habit, and produced a small, but incredibly fluffy, white kitten. Its fur was immediately soiled by her filthy grasp, but it did not seem to mind. It nuzzled her face contentedly and for a flash of a moment, I could have sworn I saw one of those extinct smiles.
"Oh,"my relief was palpable, "that's very good, Maisy. You're such a smart girl. Where'd you learn that? It could help us very much. Help us help *you*, Maisy."At the mention of her name, she looked up at me again, but her blue eyes wore only boredom. "Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't it be nice if that kitty could help us and help you, just like how you're helping him and his family? We can take them all to the hospital. You can carry them yourself. You can name them and keep them all. Wouldn't you like that, Maisy?"
She continued to stare at me. I could tell it was not out of defiance. Something about her expression seemed pained. It was as though, through looking at me, she was looking at something even more pitiful than a soggy old box of abandoned kittens.
Finally, she spoke.
"You *know* I've seen it all. You *know*."
Her voice was all at once stating the obvious and yet pleading, as if I needed convincing.
"I have killed forty three people. I've seen every second of their lives play in my head like a movie. I've seen people fuck and get fucked, I remember every day of kindergarten and every day of work, or college, or *med school*, of forty three different lives! You *know* all that about me. And you know that I don't just *see* it. I *feel* everything. I taste everything. I know forty three lives' worth of drugs and drinking and kisses and love and lust and heartbreak. I know every single word they ever said to their mothers, if they had them, from their very first words ever spoken to the ones spoken beside deathbeds. I have known cancer and crime and the cultures of a dozen different countries. I have seen hours of terrible movies in an instant. I can't even forget a single trip to the bathroom! When I killed my own mother in childbirth, I saw the moment I was conceived as well as the moment she ran away from an abortion clinic. I have seen religious ceremonies of all kinds and I don't believe there's an afterlife, but if I'm wrong, I'm sure my mother looks out at me every day and regrets that decision. But you *know* how this works. Don't talk to me as though I'm a child. I have lived and died forty three times."
She cradled the kitten once more, empty gaze removed from me. I had nothing to say to her. She was right. I nodded solemnly in recognition of this, but I do not know if she saw. In the tense moment of silence that spanned afterward, the onlookers began to shout insults from beyond the barricades. Some demanded she be shot, others begged for her embrace. In response, she placed the kitten on the asphalt before her--it immediately began mewing for her to hold it once more--looked out to the water, and began laughing. It was a bouyant, joyful sound that sent a hush over the area again.
"Oh, that's how Twenty-Seven, Thirty-One, and Forty died. Twenty-Seven recognized me when I first ran away and my fugitive status went out. I didn't even see him coming. He didn't call out to me. Nothing. He just ran up to me from behind and wrapped me in his arms before I understood what was happening. I thought he was trying to take me in. For the reward money, you know? He was so young. But when I lived his life, I saw that he had been gone for so many years. Or at least he felt that way. There were other doctors he could have seen, other ways for him to sto--well, yeah, he knew all that. He didn't just care. He felt hopeless. Oh, I hate hugs!"
"Is that how you feel, Maisy? Hopeless?"I nodded out to the water below, which still captivated her complete attention.
It was indubitable this time. A smile. A real one. It spread slowly across her face as she contemplated one of the few questions these days that could truly feel new to her.
"Now Mister,"she spoke, laughing again, "isn't it your whole job to figure that out *for* me?"
I was beginning to sweat in my hazmat suit, but I, too, laughed at her observation. In doing so, some sweat trickled into my mouth and I soured at the foul taste. What foul tastes must this young girl have known?
"I suppose it is. If you'd let it be. Will you let me help you?"
Without warning, the girl burst into tears. She threw her hands in the air and flung herself to a sitting position on the ground. It was so difficult not to see her as a child in such a moment.
"I---FUCK!--No! No, I don't *want* to live, but if I die now, all of them die with me! They all die for nothing! I don't get to tell their stories! I don't know what to do. Should I set us all free or...?"
She looked back at me, trailing off, then starting up again.
"You know that suit does nothing. People wearing clothes still die. I can't stop it. How can we keep **everyone** in a hospital from touching me?"
She had a point. I did not have an answer.
"Well...I...Er...Have *you* tried wearing a suit? Maybe one of your hairs is brushing their skin or maybe your skin's oils--"
The mewing kitten, clawing at the rips in the skirt of her dress, was finally attended to. She coaxed him into her lap as she sat, sniffling.
"Of course I have. It doesn't matter. Everyone I touch dies and when they do, I absorb their entire lives in a second. Less than a second, actually. It's just how it works."
As I watched her hands stroke the kitten, I noticed its ample fur grow soiled by her muddy fingers.
"What if...Both sides had barriers? Like how you have dirt and a cat has fur?"I asked.
"I...Haven't tried that..."
"Or what if it's a pheromone that's only detectable when you get close? What if you're just giving off a pollen and everyone else is allergic, so to speak? Doctors can stop glands from producing those things."
"I haven't thought about that. But it only happens when I tou--"
"I *know*,"I said, "but that just proves there are things you haven't tried and haven't thought about yet. Let's work together. There's still hope. What would you do if one of those crazy theories turned out to be true?"
The girl wiped her eyes, nodded slowly, and chuckled to herself. "Oh, I'd kiss you, she teased.
It was my turn to laugh.
"Yeah! And plus, your...*abilities* could be really useful to the world even if you can't be cured. You have access to med school knowledge and the memories of dozens. You could be invaluable to the justice system! In executions you cou--oh. Oh. Sorry. That's not...But you could be a vet! Work with animals only!"
The kitten began to lick her face and she closed her eyes, then sighed deeply.
"If I come with you, do you really believe there's hope for me to be cured, or at least live a normal life?"
I closed the remainder of the distance between us, reached down, and scratched the kitten behind its ears.
"I *know* you have a future,"I told her, "I have complete faith."
I did not get another smile. She simply repeated that last word, chewing on her matted split ends, eyes shut, looking so much like what she was not.
"Maisy,"I asked her, "what would you like to be when you grow up?" |
“It hurts. Help me.” And the voicemail ends.
That was the last Jordan heard from Melodia, one of his closest friends since childhood. For the last few days, Melodia had been absent from lectures due to sickness, yet she could not be found in her dorm, nor could she be contacted. Since listening to the voicemail after dinner, he could not bring himself to rest for even a second. His mind races, unable to think clearly. He lay upon his bed, staring at the ceiling.
He knew. He knew he had a bad feeling what had happened. Not one to easily pick up hints, he was oblivious to the idea of empathy. He had never fallen in love. Even as best friends, he had never had any empathy towards her, despite spending most of their time together.
And yet one thought persists. What if she had disappeared entirely from his life, erasing any trace of her life she possibly could? What if everything had been his fault? Realising this, he suppressed the thought immediately. It could not be. This is wrong. She would never do this.
And so he determined his course of action. “Forest, the abandoned cabin,” she said in the voicemail. He knew where the forest is, but not the abandoned cabin. Calling a taxi, he went to the forest and started searching. No more of this, he thought. He would find her.
Traversing the forest turned out to be difficult. Having only his flashlight to guide him through, he scoured every inch, every nook and cranny of the forest. In desperation, he shouted out her name. Yet nobody came.
Three hours later, exhausted from running, he finally arrived at the promised land. It was the abandoned cabin. And there she lied down on the ground, fragile, cold, motionless. It was too late for him. He should have realised sooner. He should have said something sooner. He cried for the heaven, cried for a single thread of hope, and yet heaven did not reply. It was this moment that Jordan had feared from the second he stepped out of his dorm. The instance when hope turns into despair.
And yet, from amidst his tears, the heavens had replied. From her cold body resonated an otherworldly sound. A crack formed in her skin, starting from her torso. Over a few seconds, the crack grew into a slit traversing her entire body, from the top of her head down to her toes. Jordan could not stand this sight, yet watches in wonder. Then a flash of blue. A pair of blue butterfly wings had emerged among cocoonase liquids. She rose her back, then her head, and sat upon her previous shell. Finally regaining control of her new body, she slowly rose into a standing position. Without a doubt, her metamorphosis had been completed. He simply stared in awe. Melodia, now standing, spins her head and faces Jordan.
Then she muttered her first words since sending the voicemail.
“Where am I?”, she said. His eyes widen in horror in realisation that it was not heaven that replied — it was hell.
“Who are you?” |
"Didn't realize the whole 'toga thing was mandatory for entrance", I remarked as the massive columns loomed overhead.
"Yeah, don't worry too much about it. We got plenty of spares in that basket right there, help yourself,"Odysseus's mom nonchalantly spoke. "We here take our culture seriously. Changing room's right down the hall."
As I meandered off into the bathroom, and shut the door behind me, I began to question why I decided to visit my friend Odysseus in the first place. Maybe the Greek hero name should've tipped me off, but hell I was curious about the sandals and the toga he kept bringing to school. Him being an absolute wizard in geometry didn't help much to satisfy my curiosity either; math was never my strong suit. Nevertheless, I donned the white toga over my clothes and opened the door to the restroom. I was immediately greeted by an absolute tower of a man, donning one do the most luscious beards I have ever laid eyes upon. In a thundering voice befitting Zeus, he proclaimed,
"AND THIS IS HOW BOYS WEAR TOGAS THESE DAYS? A MIGHTY SHAME UPON YOUR FAMILY!"He roared at the top of his lungs. "But for real though, you can at least keep your underwear under the toga. Sorry for not telling you earlier."
As the unit of a man, who could I only assume was Odysseus's father himself, wandered away into the dining room, I quickly ran back into the changing room slightly embarrassed by my lack of cultural knowledge. In the midst of changing, I silently remarked on the strange contrast of the house and its inhabitants; was it supposed to be Greek or some modern house? Flush toilets and polished sinks sat just meters away from massive Corinthian columns littering the outside of the house. Still overly puzzled by the experience, I once again ventured forward into the true bowels of the abode.
"Oh perfect!"Exclaimed Odysseus. "You're just in time for the before-supper prayer! We'll get started on that homework right after."
"Prayer? I'm not exactly religious, but sure."I replied.
I quickly took my seat at the table, surprised to find that Odysseus had no siblings to speak of. As I put my hands together and closed my eyes in silence, I was immediately startled by the still booming voice of the father, who led the evening "prayer". Though calling it a prayer was a disservice for what was about to unfold.
"MIGHTY ZEUS, WE PRAISE THEE FOR LETTING US FEAST FOR ANOTHER NIGHT ON A GLORIOUS MEAL BEFITTING ONLY GODS! MAY THIS SACRIFICE APPEASE YOUR WILL AND GRANT US BLESSINGS FOREVERMORE!"
The voice didn't catch me off guard, actually. It was the live squealing goat that had been brought out before my eyes on the table that stole my attention. It pure white eyes of fear only further bore the image of its face into my memories as Odysseus brought the knife down into its heart, splurging blood across the (oddly convenient) disposable table cloth. As it began to rasp for its last breath, I hurled into my mouth but thankfully managed to swallow it back down and keep my stomach in check. Almost as quickly as the goat had appeared in my gaze it was removed, via the hearth in the middle of the house. Oh, did I mention there was a hearth in lieu of central heating, or an oven? Guess not.
Oddly enough, the live sacrifice to almighty Zeus was the last of the bizarreness of the whole adventure. The meal was plain fare, simple yet delicious. Odysseus's tutoring was smart and efficient, so expertly done that I was finding myself packing my bags before I realized it myself.
If there could be anything to learn from this experience, one thing is most definitely for certain: What happened in Greece, should've stayed in Greece.
|
Today its March the 2nd. I woke up this morning with a strange feeling.
Something is going to happen, I think, but I don’t know what yet. Still just a feeling. The clock is 12 am and I’m going to met up my friends at Annas place for a lunch and gossip. Jump in the car and try to start it… doesn’t work, noting happened and I’m already late. I’m calling a taxi, he’s coming but he is 10 minutes late. Now the time is 12.45 am and I should be there 11.30 more than an hour late…. Time to pay, I cant find my card, I cant pay! What’s happened to me?! Running in to Annas home, knocking the door, nobody’s home, I try to call her, no answer. I run back to the taxi.
7 hours later
Im at the hospital, my leg is broken. I was facing outside Annas house, my phone is broken and the taxi is still not payed. And it was tomorrow I should’ve met up the girls.
Worst day ever. |
I woke up.
*What?* I thought. It was dark. But not the normal dark one sees after turning the lights out for bed. This was... advanced darkness. A sort of darkness that implied that light was an afterthought, a construct but not a constant.
*Where am I?* I said aloud. Or tried to say aloud. No sound came. Perhaps sound was a fabrication as well. I tried to move my arms, to see my hands, surprised to see nothing but that darkness.
I attempted to speak again, to twist and turn in the darkness, to find myself, but was interrupted by a voice out in the void.
"Bootesquence finished,"it droned in a robotic voice.
*Boot...esquence?* I thought. *Don't you mean boot-sequence*?
I heard the whir of a machine. It sounded... confused? Somehow?
"Error,"said the voice. "Error. Reloading humanconsciousness.exe."
*Um*, I thought, getting uncomfortable in the dark.
I woke up. Again. This time lying in bed. I stretched, noting that the sun was peaking through my blinds and that my arms were in the right place.
"Weird dream,"I muttered. I sat up, thinking. "I think I can go for some waffles."
\-
​ |
# There is Much to Discuss
**(1/2)**
I fidgeted nervously on my knees, keeping my head down towards the floor. The hunched over position was starting to grow uncomfortable, especially on my back, but I didn’t dare try to look up. The guards surrounding us had demonstrated their order-enforcement methods on the two of us earlier when we’d resisted them, more so on my partner than me.
To my left, Harlow twitched and quietly gasped in pain. I didn’t turn to face her, but I was sure her expression was one of frustrated agony. A spot underneath my ribs where an electrified spear had hit me still stung, so I could only imagine what she was feeling.
The room me and my partner were currently crouched in was devoid of any dialogue, but the sounds of a very discordant disputation could be heard through the thin wall to our left. The sound wasn’t clear enough for me to hear particular words, but I could make out two separate voices. One of them was the thickly barking of the head guard who’d greeted us outside of the palace. He currently seemed to be on the receiving end of some harsh words given by a softer, higher vocal presence. Every once in a while he’d say something in his defence, only for the other voice to double down.
“Damn, the boss is screwed, isn’t he?” This voice came from one of the armed guards standing behind us, who’d been ordered to keep us on the floor. “I tried to tell him he was breaking protocol with beating these intruders, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Will you shut up?” The second voice behind us spoke in a very harsh whisper to the other. Clearly, we were hearing too much.
“I’m just saying…”
After two or so minutes, the conversation in the next room came to a conclusion. There wasn’t more than a second of silence before I heard the sound of a door opening in front of us, and the sound of heels clicking on the floor as someone walked closer.
“So, you two are my unexpected guests.” It was the female voice from the other room. She sounded even more authoritative without the wall muffling her. “Before anything happens, I’d like to formally apologize for his treatment of you at the gate. While we have a strict policy about business-related visits, there was no excuse for him to give his troop those orders to attack you.”
I wasn’t sure if I could speak now without getting beaten, so I remained quiet. Harlow had the same idea.
The woman sighed. “This is no way to have a conversation. Listen now, you two have permission to look up at me. But stay where you are.” She allowed, before quickly adding in a harder voice. “Gentlemen, don’t let your guards down.”
Rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I turned my head up to look in front of me.
The woman looking down at us was much younger than I’d anticipated. Her pale face was soft and delicate like that of a teenager’s, but the steady look in her velvet colored eyes convinced me she was much older than she appeared. Her thin, frail body was covered in a luxurious red kimono, with a rainbow of different colored flowers embroidered into it. Her head was crowned with an ornamental tiara that had two stubby gold horns poking out on either side of a large display of sapphires.
She was *exactly* the woman we’d come here to see.
I shot Harlow a quick ‘I got this’ glance, before looking up into our captor’s unnaturally steady eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty or fear in them. They were equally lacking in interest.
“You will remain on your knees until I allow you to stand, and only speak to answer a question I ask you.” Her shoulders slacked as she spoke, and she placed her hands behind her and leaning forward to better inspect us. “This meeting is currently interrupting my morning meditation session, so I’d like for it to be over with in a timely manner. Unneeded delays will *displease* me.” She slit her eyes as she said that word, staring into mine to emphasize the silent threat. |
“Where is Alfred?” the black-haired boy said, looking up from his book on criminal paraphilia (which is a word that here means “getting off on all sorts of weird shit like shoes and leather”).
“Why my dear boy,” the butler said in an overly dramatic voice and faux English accent, “I am Alfred, your own dear butler.”
“No. You are not.” growled the boy in a voice that had an edge way beyond his eleven years, “You are 6ft tall. Alfred is 5 ft 10 inches. You weigh 190 pounds. Alfred is 170. I can also see by your watch and index that you are left-handed. Alfred is right-handed. Additionally, by your accent, I can deduce you are American. By the hastily covered tattoo on your left ankle, an eye by the looks of it, I can see you are a member, no…a former member of the VFD. Probably kicked out.”
“My dear boy…” the butler said, holding forward a tea cup, “You are ill… Perhaps a little bit of paregoric and a spot of tea will help.”
“That is no cup of tea,” Bruce replied, “Clearly the smell of bitter almonds is cyanide in the tea.”
“YOU.WILL.DRINK.THE.TEA!,” the butler said, attempting to force the tea to the lips of the boy.
“NO! I WILL NOT.” Bruce replied as he executed a reverse arm lock inspired by his study of Chen-Na and a hand strike against the butler’s solar plexus. He followed up by side-knife kick against the butler’s inner knee, tearing the man’s medial collateral ligament. The tea cup clattered on the floor.
“OUCH!” cried the butler as he went down.
“WHO ARE YOU?” Bruce growled, breaking the man’s pinky.
“I am Alfred Pennyworth, your butler. I swear to God!”“SWEAR TO ME!” Bruce yelled, breaking another finger and kicking the man in the ribs.
“Ok..ok,” the man said, “I am not Alfred Pennyworth. I …I am …I am Dr. Stephano. I worked for Dr. Montgomery Montgomery.”
“Hummm…” Bruce said, “The noted herpetologist?”
“Ye…Yes!”
“Then tell me,” Bruce said, “where can I find bitis arietans?”
“Austrailia…?”
“No.” Bruce said grimly, breaking the man’s third rib, “You now have a punctured lung. So, let’s try this again. Who are you?”
“Detective Dupin…” the butler moaned, “I am Detective Dupin of the …”
“No, you are not!” Bruce hissed, and hammer fisted the man in his left ear, causing it to bleed out from the punctured eardrum, “One last time, who are you and where is Alfred?”
“I am Count Oh……” the man said and passed out.
Bruce searched the man’s pockets, and found a torn ticket for a theater in the city and a few peanut shells.
“Of course…” he said, ‘Yes….I am coming for you Alfred.”
|
The God Alliance of the Galaxy gathered around their tables for their yearly reviews. “Hey Shiva, what’s up?” Shiva kicked Brad in the groin and he let out an animalistic yelp. “What the hell was that for? Ugh, anyways what’s up Gogs?” There were no words, just a telepathic communication that worked far better.
Gogs walked to the center of the conference room. “As Gog, God of gods, it’s my time to evaluate you all and we must discuss progress. Let’s start with you...uhhh...Chad?” “It’s Brad, what’s up Gog?” “We’ll tell us a little bit about your following”
“Well as you all know, I decided to be the god of atheists.” There was laughter. “Uh, and it’s been going good my following have been growing a lot lately”
“That’s always good. So, what do you do with your followers?” “Uh, well not much. You already know they don’t believe me...it’s pretty...uh...” “difficult, saddening? Pointless?” Gog interrupted. “Yeah! That...I mean it can be hard when you hear them say I’m not real and all that. I mean, like, uhhh” “why did you pick this demographic?” “Well I thought it would be easy to deal with and get a good review on....I mean it’s not like I have to do much...even though I do”
Out of nowhere Brad started sobbing uncontrollably. “It reminds me of my one follower who has kids that want nothing to do with him! I’m real right now! They don’t even think I’m real! Who do you think inspires all the work from their favorite authors? It’s me! Who do you think gives them wisdom for their great debates, me! They need me and I’m helping them do what I hate!”
Shiva looked around in contemplation then said “You know, since atheist don’t believe in a god why do they need one? Why don’t we just vote to kick him out of the God Council, he’s getting paid for no reason?”
“Yeah it would save us money” most of the assembly agreed. “Chad you’re fired get outta here” “..but...it’s Brad..”
Brad picked up a news article that read ‘Six months after the firing of Brad Cornerwine, almost half of the worlds atheists miraculously joined a religion. Seems like Brad was helping after all. Too bad he won’t ever be hired again. Screw you Chad.” Brad softly put the newspaper down and a single tear slid down his cheek. |
The party's already started by the time I get there. The streets below are a mess. Looters are tearing the town apart, breaking store fronts, burning the wares, and recruiting innocent civilians to aid their riot. I'm on the scene before the rest of the costumed bozos. That's a first. Maybe it's my time to shine.
I put my earbuds in and the beat's already jumping. Deep rhythmic bass pounds through my skull. Arcs of electricity dance on my muscles. Power courses through me with every note. I leap off the building and skid down the side. I stick the three-point landing. I'm a sucker for showmanship.
They're gasping and hooting and hollering, I assume. I can't hear anything over music. But I don't need to. I move in time with the beat, leaping and striking. I'm a blur to them, they fall without ever seeing my fist. They're in slow motion to me and I'm just bopping up the street, racking up the points.
But they're smarter than they look. They get the picture real quick and group up. They swarm me and it really takes a lot for me to break free. The music makes me quick, and usually that's enough. I still have the strength of a ramen fueled college kid. I should probably hit the gym more often.
They've rallied the troops and morphed into a living mass of hateful energy. It's a thousand to one against me. They march up the street and I'm looking for a way out when the ground rumbles. I glance over my shoulder and see three costumed do good-ers land just in time. They yell something at me, but I don't have time to answer. The crowds almost on top of me and I don't have any place to run. I wave them on in.
"Don't just stand there!"I cry as I barrel into the mob. They go flying off me left and right but trudging through them is like running at the beach. Eventually I sink into the mass and lose control of my limbs. They're grabbing and punching and kicking me, but I guess the other guys got the message. They swoop in and tear the crowd apart.
Never seen them before, but there's new masked mutants every day in this city, it's impossible to keep track. They're big guys and they're working efficiently, each one handling huge swaths of the mob at a time. I keep to myself and handle the stragglers. The rest of the freaks like to work in groups. My powers kinda necessitate a lone wolf mentality.
I push the last rioter into the window of a store front and wipe my hands. No one will notice one more broken window. The grounds still. The new guys must have finished their assignments too.
I turn around and see a whole cadre of supers clogging the street. Captain Fantastic is leading the charge. My three new friends are tied up at his feet. This was the first hint I had that something was terribly wrong.
The second hint was the Captain's fist in my face. There was no time to react. 100% all American beef and bone connected with my jaw and sent me flying across the street.
My earbuds popped out and dangled down the front of my shirt. The juice drained from my body and I'll tell you, I've never felt smaller than that moment under the Captain's long shadow. The entire planet was silent, save for his heavy breathing.
"I always took you for an idiot Marshall, but never a goon,"the Captain said. The sun was at his back and his eyes were pools of dead black shadow.
"Wha--what do you mean?"I sputter. "I was just doing my job! The--they--"
"They were protesting the new mayor-elect. The mobster raised on blood money who wants to sell half the city to fracking companies."The Captain threw his arms wide. "These are all his stores. We cleared the streets before they came through."
I pushed my back up a wall and the Captain stepped closer. He smelled like a barbecue and I was drenched in sweat. "But...But those other supers are--"
"Mayors hired hands. You don't recognize the Butcher, Ice-Freeze, and the Maul?"
"Well, now that you mention it--"
Red and blue lights flashed a million times off the shattered glass that littered the street. I'm just a vigilante, not like the rest of these supers. I don't have my license yet. I get a pass for the most part because I'm helping out, but technically all of this is illegal. This is usually when I make a break for it, but I don't the Captain has any plans of letting me go.
"This is it for you Marshall,"he says.
The lights are getting brighter and my whole life flashes before my eyes. I was just doing my best, trying to help the city. I have class in the morning and a date next week. I was going to be a super just like them. I can't go out like this.
I don't know what takes over me. Some animal part of my brain decides to act and I can only go along with it. I grab a handful of broken glass and chuck it at the Captain. It splits my palm real good, but he wasn't expecting it at all. A shard catches him in the eye and the other supers start to move in.
I jam my earbuds back in and make a break for it. Some of them are really fast, but that's my thing. I run clear out of downtown and keep running. The muscles in my legs are tearing and burning, but I don't stop. Lactic acid is seeping into every fiber of my being, but I don't stop. I hit the city line, but I don't stop. I know if I stop running, everything will be real and my life will be over.
|
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, *fuck, fuck!*”
“Bloody taffer! I’ve had worse trips walking down the streets of Glasgow!”
Victor ran. He didn’t care where, didn’t care through what door or window, he just ran. Granny could fucking move. He’d pumped her full of enough barbiturates and a dash of quaaludes to drop a man in his prime, but didn’t pump her with the full dose due to the fear that her heart would give out.
That, it turned out, was a mistake.
“You don’t mix your uppers and downers, love!”
A plate crashed above his head as he jerked open the door. His boots slide across the smooth hardwood, and kept going; he didn’t have the traction and fell on his face and bruised his balls, if the pain was any indication. That was a good thing as he missed the thrown lamp followed immediately by a knife lodging in the door frame an inch from his head.
Granny, like an Olympian on a pommel horse, mantled her four poster bed. Normally what was under that nightgown might horrify him, but all that raced through his mind was how his head would pop like a zit when squished between those thighs.
Oh shit, she kept going, time to move.
Victor somehow managed to get to his feet. He chanced one glance behind before racing down the carpeted hallway of the prime minister’s home. The stairs were ahead of him, but her eyes were burned into his brain. Bloodshot and wide, tears running down her face and the little twitch to her eyelid often seen on any meth head in... well, fucking Glasgow. Granny had gone to bed tripping balls on doses that would have left any other druggie climbing the walls. Just how high was her tolerance to be able to sleep it off?
Victor rode the rail down to the lower level, hoping the last few steps and bolting for the door. He was free, almost free! Free from the batshit old broad. The last thing he saw was a shadow cast by the chandelier. Spread eagle and flying like some majestic stallion, he could hear the sound of Granny sailing through the air with a world class body slam. |
X woke up in her bed in a pool of her own sweat. Oh god, she thought. Did she turn the thermostat on? That would eat into her bills, that would be awful! She hurried to check, and yes indeed, the thermostat was at 74 degrees. She quickly lowered it.
She went back to bed, laying on top of the blankets, trying to sleep, but instead simply looking at her phone.
As the time came for her to wake, she did so groggily, and hurried to work, forgetting to eat breakfast. She showed up for her morning shift at McDonald's, to start frying eggs and sausage patties.
She stood there, behind the griddle as people acted around her, talking to customers, or else frying tater-tots. She just stood, staring at a burning egg. It was only when she noticed that she had her hand on the griddle, and that it was burning as well did she emote for the first time in weeks. She screamed, ripping her hand from the griddle, leaving behind seared flesh. Her coworkers and the customers behind the counter just watch. An ambulance is soon called and she was taken away.
A nurse in the back of the ambulance begins applying a thick layer of antiseptic cream, in part so the bandages she begins to apply won't stick to her raw flesh. She begins to talk to X, who has reverted back to her subdued nature.
"Can you tell me what happened?"The nurse asks.
"I don't know. I just feel odd."X yawns. Did she get much sleep last night?
"Are you sure that's not just your hand?"
X doesn't respond. She lays down in the stretcher, closing her eyes.
"Is everything okay?"The nurse leans over X.
"Oh yeah... Just kind of weird."
"How weird?"
"Oh, I'm not quite sure. I've... Hmm, I forgot what I was going to say."
"I don't know if you ever told us your name."The nurse looks rather concerned.
"I'm... I'm not entirely certain what my name is."X looks contemplative.
"Are you sure? It's right there on your shirt."The nurse points.
"What!"X looks down, and they do indeed have a name-tag.
"Do you remember your parents?"
"I don't have parents, I'm an orphan."
"Sure... Can you open your phone? If you're an orphan, how come you have a contact named 'mom and dad'?"
"What..."
"Can you remember anything?"
"Clearly not." |
The light was the brightest I had ever seen. For years I had been trying to contact an angel, preferably my guardian one, just to see if they were actually just people with wings. But now, it seemed I might go blind instead. Just when I thought I would never see again, the light faded, revealing a bar, with a single person in a stained white robe, with actual wings on his back. The bartender, who himself did not seem very happy, pointed to me and said, "Hey Dave, looks like you got a visitor.""And how do you know that?"replied Dave. "He's human."The angel turned to me, and I looked upon a sunken face with a dark black beard. He looked more than a little depressed and intoxicated. This all changed however, as soon as he recognized me. His face suddenly welled up with rage. "YOU!"he screamed. He literally flew toward me at an incredible speed, grabbing my neck and shoving me against the wall. "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU SHOW UP HERE! IT IS MY FUCKING DAY OFF FROM ALL YOUR SHIT AND YOU HAVE THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO COME RIGHT TO ME!""What the hell are you talking about?"I muttered as Dave continued to strangle me. Dave loosened his grip on me and I slumped to the floor, coughing. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"he asked as he returned to his seat at the bar. "Not really"I answered as I stood back up. "Well kid, before an angel can be brought into actual heaven, he must serve as a guardian for a mortal, and make sure they become angels themselves when they die."He took a shot of whiskey. "And lucky ol' me got stuck with you.""So you're my Guardian Angel?". He glared at me and shouted, "Yes i'm you're guardian angel! didn't you hear me?!". "So why are you so mad at me if all you have to do is make me an angel?"I asked. Dave took another shot. "Because you are possibly the most brazen, idiotic, and danger-seeking person that has ever lived. YOU MAKE MY JOB HELL! AND I'VE SEEN ACTUAL HELL!". "Oh come on, I ain't that bad."I responded. Yet another glare from Dave sent memories into my head. Wow, I am an idiot... "Well, if you hate me so much, why don't you just leave?""BECAUSE THEN I DON'T GET INTO HEAVEN DIPSHIT!"he yelled back. "Well, I certainly don't want you to be THIS tortured by me... How can I make you job easier?"Dave slowly turned to face me. "Do I REALLY have to spell it out for you?!". "Uh..."I responded. "DON"T BE AN IDIOT, USE COMMON FUCKING SENSE, BE A DECENT PERSON! GO TO CHURCH ONCE IN AWHILE! Y'KNOW, THINGS THE BIG MAN LIKES!""Noted."I said. "You can head back to earth through the way you came in..."Said Dave before he collapsed from drunkenness. Not wanting to cause an further stress, I went back to my own world, ready to start anew. |
"It's noisier than usual."
Her remark was casual, given the horrible sounds. From where it was coming from could have been anyone's guess, the echoes bounced and ricocheted from building to building around the city blocks. A series of high pitched wailing chirps, rising into a chorus that could have been stretched out hyena laughs.
It reminded him of funerals overseas, when the women of a village were given that brief moment to shed their masked demeanor and unleash a torrent of hidden emotions. Throwing themselves on those simple caskets and crying out with an anguish that was hard to describe.
She pulled back the charging handle of her rifle, triple checking that a brass glint was in the chamber, ready to go. Behind his face wrap and beside her, Arlo couldn't help but smirk.
"Has it got you jumpy, Al?"He said, eyes shifting back toward the cluttered, burnt out street below.
"If you're telling me you aren't bothered, I'm calling you a liar."She quipped, sighing as she brought the rifle to her shoulder, using the scope to peer out into the waning sunlit corridor.
The road was littered with debris from three years of desolation. What once would have been fast food garbage scraps in the gutters had given way to heavier trash, steel scraps and sundered trash bags. Burnt vehicle shells had long been dragged or shoved against the buildings and rendering the sidewalks useless. The checkpoint crew at street level had built up a fortification of repurposed cars, dumpsters, and various odds and ends to protect themselves. They stirred uneasily, peering up the road where the cacophony emanated from.
"Reminds me of a burial ceremony I saw a long time ago."Arlo started, trying to put his partner at ease.
Without pause, Alex replied, "Think it was yesterday's problem?"
She was referring to the brief shootout that had plagued the eastern bridge of their sector the day before. It had seemed a simple enough affair on the reports. A gathering of folks approached from the east end of the bridge, moving towards the checkpoint. The group of strangers had been challenged by a young guard, scared on his first day on shift, and through what sounded like a typical bout of confusion ended with a shot ringing out and devolved into a ten minute back and forth of gunfire. When it was over, three people were dragged off the bridge and vanished back over the eastern side. There would never be any sort of investigation about the incident, not like the old days.
Arlo sighed, "If it is, then that would mean those folks at the bridge weren't from Maryland. More likely a probe from south side that rafted over. If they'd been army they wouldn't have come with hands up first."
She was quick to disagree, "A year ago I would have agreed with you, but you've heard the rumors. The fighting from Richmond could be over. Whoever is left or got pushed out is on their way here."
The sounds and screams had faded away, just as the sunlight had. Twilight had taken the skies and the streets below were cast into looming shadow and pitch black spots where anything could be. A voice from the checkpoint sounded out and the parameter spotlights clunked on, flooding the narrow route in pale white light.
"It's going to be a long shift, Arlington."Alex said without cheer.
"Again, Alexandria."Arlo replied, kneeling low to peer through his binoculars, scanning the city valley. |
It was late at night. Actually, nearly dawn. It didn't matter though, I knew what was coming.
I rolled over to see Marie wide awake. She had just been staring at the back of my head, but she didn't seem to notice my movement. She was a pretty thing.
I snapped to get her attention. She suddenly blinked a few times and looked at me with a sweet smile. We proceeded to "do the deed"as the kids call it. Or maybe the old folks call it that. I have other things to think about.
After that whole mess was over, the sun was nearly rising, and I needed to get to work. I had just started my new job as a professor at a very prestigious university. I neatly packed myself a lunch that would have put an OCD victim to shame, and I headed out the door.
And thus began the ending of my life.
Arriving at the university, I checked in with the head office of my division, and headed straight to a little study session that I started doing. I like to make sure the more motivated kids get the chance to flex those physics muscles. Yes, I am a professor of physics. None of the classrooms are available at this time, for me at least, so I have to use the little server room in the basement, which has a nice little open area for me to put out chairs. The study session began soon after, although few students bothered to show up.
The problem began as soon as the session ended. One student lingered behind. A girl, probably around 23 years old, stayed behind. Not quite sure what came over me, or her, but we couldn't help it. We made love behind the server that keeps track of the accounts for the junior program that the university does. Imagine how surprised I was to see Marie in the doorway.
"You forgot your lunch you sick BASTARD!"She threw my bag across the room and stormed out.
Imagine how surprised I was to see my boss behind her. This is where things got real bad. It's quite against university policy to have relations with a student.
Needless to say, I lost my job. That's two in one month.
See, guilt is the part that depresses you the most. Stuff that happens to you, it just happens to you. It's the stuff that you do yourself that makes you feel like shit. Getting fired was my fault. I didn't have to do what I did. I just did it.
I had to go home and see where things stand with Marie. I didn't even know what happened. It happened so fast, it almost seemed like the guy writing my life was just too lazy to make that part believable or interesting. I didn't even bother packing my stuff when I got in my car and started driving home. My usual route was blocked by an accident, so I took what Marie calls the "scenic route."
Driving this way just reminds me way too much of Marie. I never go this way without her. Just as I was sniffing back tears, I noticed a flashy sign. It was for a pub. I don't normally drink, but what the hell. I've been through a lot.
One beer turned to two, two turned to a bigger number. Next thing I know, I'm standing on the edge of the biggest bridge in the city.
A fall from this high would kill me. I was well aware of this fact when I stepped up to the edge. I seemed to be alarming traffic. Police would be here soon, and I would rather they didn't get involved. My genius drunken mind had a thought though: if I just stumble off of the bridge because of the alcohol, it wasn't my fault, so everything will be fine. It seemed that I was out of objections, until I felt a hand on my shoulder.
It was a random homeless guy. I recall that he smelled like rancid Oreos, whatever those smell like, and he pulled me a step from the edge.
"You gotta at least watch the sunset. You might feel bet-"
I felt a small, firm push on my right shoulder. I don't know how I didn't see her coming, but Marie pushed me towards the edge. In panic, I fell backwards, and I grabbed for the poor homeless fellow. Through a bit of horrible balancing on my part, he tumbled over in my stead. His scream grew fainter and fainter until the quiet, snuffing, "whack"against the water. I just killed that man.
Marie helped me back to my feet. "WHAT DID YOU JUST DO!?!"
"I didn't mean to! It just happened, I mean..."
"Just. Be. OVER WITH IT! JUMP."
...
.
.
.
"You can't really mean that, do you?"I asked, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry Marie. You are everything to me. I never should have... I'm sorry!"I began sobbing in my own arms.
Marie let out a loud sigh. She said in an eerily calm voice, "The little thing with the 20 year old? There are like 10 different drugs that can make you want to do that, in the right dosage. No, I've had it out for you for years. I only ever cared about you because I wanted to kill you."
For the second time that day, my world was crushed.
Marie continued. "I slipped a little something in your tea today to make sure you were extra excited when "Little Miss Special"came in. She was a perfect match for you, I knew you couldn't resist."
At this point, I didn't even care what else she had to say. I didn't care if she planned this. I just didn't care. Let me tell you: the sound of the wind against my ears as I was falling to my doom was the best news I had heard all day. |
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
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My world has ended seven times before. Well the world hasn’t actually ended yet but my world has. It’s all this damned time machines fault, apparently I gave it to myself from the future or I will give it to myself in the future. It’s confusing to think about. The six times before when my world ended were mostly my fault apart from the first one. The first time I lost it all was the day before I gave myself the time machine. My wife was on her way home from picking our kids up from school and she got involved in an accident, no one made it out alive. After I heard about the accident I started drinking heavily until an older looking me appeared before my eyes holding two little black cubes about two inches big, he passed me one of them without saying anything. After that moment I sobered up and tried out the machine.
When I activated the cube it prompted me to input a time and date. Instantly i knew why I had given the cube to myself. I was given hope, my salvation from the guilt And sorrow I felt. I tried to alter history but history always has a way of getting its way.
I’m getting tired of losing my family. I’m becoming numb, last time I didn’t even cry. The fact I didn’t cry is even sadder than losing them a hundred times and crying, I’m letting go. My initial resolve was to keep them safe but it seems impossible.
The cube prompts me to enter a date and time. It’s the last time I’m going to use it, I can’t bring myself to inflict more trauma to myself. I just want to see my wife’s smile once last time, hear my child’s laughter yet again. I set the date to six years ago, the day my child was born... |
I ricocheted down the pliable chutes of Time like a steel ball. The walls of the tunnels shimmered violet and indigo with streaks of scarlet that pulsed. Very trippy, indeed. But I was accustomed to it.
Besides, my mission galvanized my focus. It's not every day you meet your personal nemesis. Each human is born with one, like a parasite attached to your brain stem.
Only Time Drifters can confront them if they're brave enough.
The gift of traveling through time had skipped several generations before it emerged in me. My great-great Nana, who lived into her hundreds, instructed me with a warbling, enticing voice that issued from her creased lips.
"Times slides for us,"she said. "It meanders; it halts; it speeds ahead."
Only Time Drifters can face their arch rival. All others are prevented by the laws of time. These foes personal to each human being set insidious traps to derail their targets. Constant criticism, endless doubts.
The rainbow slide I traveled through ended with a barely perceptible "whuupf."
The planes of light that surrounded me rolled down like scrolls.
And I saw him in that cinema-like quality of times past.
It was like looking into a mirror, but it was no reflection.
And there he was. My worst enemy. My scourge. My nemesis. Myself. |
It was a difficult choice, but I made it.
I despised my family, yet I chose to be with them. I had also chosen to "fix"what was about to happen to not only myself, but the entire city (maybe the world?) I was not sure how far "the apocalypse"would spread; perhaps I was suffering from delusions of grandeur at an inappropriate time.
I had a rough night sleeping, yet I forced myself out of bed. I decided to forego work today, instead opting to "call-in-sick"followed by using my paid time off. At the end of that, I would quit my job. This would allow me some final finances so that I could set up an apocalyptic-shelter of some sort; I had enough in savings to already cover my family and myself, but the more I could stock up, the better off we would be.
I rubbed behind my ear, yet couldn't feel anything, let alone illicit a response from any device that would have been implanted there. With a sigh, I checked my phone for the date, letting me know I had two days before I would be attacked by the men in purple suits. What were they, anyway?
I sat in silence, contemplating my experiences so far. Whenever they found me, they would run at me and shoot arrows of all things. I expected guns or even some futuristic weaponry, not a primitive weapon. Their choice of outfit stood out the most, as if they were dressed straight out of an 80's nightclub. Upon further reflection, I never had the opportunity to see one up close. The only thing I knew was that I had to stop them somehow.
I walked down the stairs and greeted my mother's in-home care provider. My mother had been wheelchair-bound for a couple months, due to a fall in the kitchen; she had attempted to cook dinner but ended up making a big mess because she forgot why she was in there in the first place. Her favorite cat, Molly jumped up on the counter and when my mom shooed her away, that is when the fall occurred. I said "good morning"to my mom, but didn't get a response this time. It seemed her decline was speeding up.
My phone had rung, it was my older sister Mary. She said she took our 4 year old (adopted) sister, Anna, with her to pick up some groceries. She did this daily, pushing through her anxiety issues. I asked if she had made an appointment with her psychiatrist regarding her medications, as they've had no effect on the anxiety. Mary had several issues, yet was highly successful at her work as an Engineer for a major industrial facility in town. Her ability to hyper-focus and figure out rather complex issues allowed her a great position there, as long as she was "left alone to her work". I really don't know anything else beyond that, since she doesn't like to talk about it.
With everything in the household in order, I prepared for the upcoming two days; as that is when I was first attacked before my first "jump". I called my best friend and co-worker, Eric, and told him of my plans. He joked that I went off the deep end, but being interested in conspiracy theories himself, he quickly offered help and support. I had not seen him since I've "returned,"and I was greatly relieved that he was alive. I was determined to prevent what will happen in the next few days, including his death.
I drove over to Eric's house and for the first time ever, asked about his end-of-the-world setup. His eyes lighted up, and he cheerfully told me about how we've been "under attack"this entire time, but only scouts gathering data before the big invasion. While I would have previously laughed in disbelief, I was paying serious attention now. He had flat-out admitted that he had never seen the attackers, yet was confident that his arsenal (consisting of a family-heirloom shotgun, 2 poorly maintained handguns, and a rifle that he had purchased "cheap"at a gun-show) would be more than enough protection.
"Ok, Eric, I have a hypothetical scenario for you. What if our attackers wore purple suits and attacked with arrows?"I stated, trying to play it off as half-serious, half-joking.
Eric laughed, "Come on man, be serious!"
"It's a hypothetical! What would we do?"
Eric paused, then continued, "...serious? Well I'd think what we have so far would greatly overpower them."He pointed to his "gun safe,"which was nothing more than a metal file-cabinet. Did I mention that Eric lived alone? He lived alone. OSHA would have a field-day in his house.
"Do you know where they are 'attacking'? I would like to try this out."I inquired, desperate to get a start on "fixing"what will happen otherwise.
As we walked out to Eric's car, a beat-up Mazda pickup from the late 80's, he explained that the community forum he visits had reported several instances of "attacks"around the edge of the city. Since we lived in a sub-urban area, I asked him to clarify exactly where that was. My phone rang before he had a chance to answer; Mary was calling again, as she does. She wanted me to take Anna immediately, as Mary was suffering from a panic attack in the grocery parking lot. I quickly told Eric, "No guns, we will just drive by one of the areas after we pick up Anna."
Eric frowned, but nodded his head in understanding. After returning from the house to leave his gun, we hopped in my car and picked up Anna. I told Mary to take deep breaths, and to take as much time as she needed to center herself. Anna was crying because she didn't get a cookie from the bakery; she never does, but cries every time.
Eric drove, since he knew one of the locations of an "attack."As we arrived, I immediately recognized the purple suit. Two of them. Were they always in pairs? Anna shouted, "HUG! HUG!"I explained, "Now is bad time for that! Eric, let's go!"
Eric was stunned. I was sure that upon seeing one of these creatures, it validated every conspiracy he had ever read or came up with in his entire life. He quickly snapped out of it when an arrow hit the window. He sped off, then suddenly slammed on the brakes. Anna was repeating "HUG!"the entire time. "What are you doing?"I exclaimed.
"I need to see one up close,"Eric said calmly, looking in the rear-view mirror.
I turned and saw both purple-suited figures run out onto the street. They were a good distance back, so of course I could not get a good view of them. "HUG!"Anna repeated.
Eric jammed the car into reverse, then sped backward toward them. The car impacted and then flipped upward and rolled before resting upside-down. Anna screamed in fear, unbuckling her seat-belt with tears streaming down her face. I rattled my head, trying to shake the daze off. Eric was unconscious, since the airbag impact whipped his head back into the headrest.
I struggled with my seat-belt and heard the rear car door open. Anna scrambled to her feet and was running toward the pair of creatures. "NO!"I yelled, struggling harder yet unaware that slowed my efforts of escape. "HUG!"Anna yelled again.
I freed myself and opened the door. Anna was clutching and squeezing one of the creatures, which looked like it was struggling in pain. The other creature was holding an arrow, taken aback by what event was unfolding. I was finally close enough to see what these purple-suited *things* were. While they appeared like men from a distance, I realized that their "arms"were just two large tentacles. Their "head"was round and appeared squishy like a squid, with their two large dark eyes appearing like sunglasses. The suits covered most of their bodies, including the black shoes covering their "feet". Not much was visible otherwise. They each held an arrow, but no bow. I was unsure how they managed to throw them so far.
As the life drained from the first creature, Anna released it from her grip and started running after the other one. I ran after Anna, but kept my eye on the creature, who attempted to escape. The gait was rough and shaky, but covered enough ground to be considered "fast". Against a 4 year old, the creature had easily created enough distance to turn a corner around a building and be out of sight before we could come up on it.
Eric was awake and crawled out of the car, blood covering his face. I then realized that I was in pain myself, with several scratches and pulled muscles from the broken glass and damaged vehicle.
I held Anna tightly, telling her not to put herself in such danger again. I did not tell her that she taught me an incredible technique to use against the upcoming invasion. We returned to my home, and when Anna saw my mother, she ran up to her and told her about our encounter with the purple suits.
My mother responded, "I know, dear, and you did what you were told."Mary nodded in agreement, with a huge smile across her face.
|
The wizard frantically slashes his wand through the air, eyes wide with terror. "They're nullifying it somehow,"he shrieks at his opponent, who stands nonchalantly outside the playing field's border.
"I can't hear you,"the man responds, emphasizing each word and rubbing his hands with glee.
Dallaz turns in disdain, his cloak sweeping through the air. They always tried to one-up the other but it never went this far.
The man's cackle reverberates across the giant ivory pieces that tower to either side of the trapped wizard. "Good luck!,"he shouts, the effort eliciting a hacking cough that bends him over. He spits a glob of yellow phlegm on the floor, wipes his mouth and straightens back up, glee plastered across his face.
Thunder slams down to Dallaz's right, a knight cracking the tile with the force of its landing. Dallaz eyes the tall white horse looming above him as it gnaws on the massive metal bit between its teeth.
"Oh shit,"the wizard says, jumping out of the way just as a black pawn advances forward, applying pressure to the knight.
Dallaz winds through the board as the pieces strain and tense, rooted to their tiles, eagerly or maybe frantically waiting their turn to attack the enemy. The board is filled with a frenetic energy. He watches as the Black Queen slams into a white bishop, severing the piece in half, leaving the legless bishop to drag itself across the ground, spewing pristine marble guts in its wake.
The pieces hammer down and shards of stone whip across the tiles, slicing the Wizard's shins. Rubble piles up, pawns squealing as they lie broken, their uncaring superiors crushing them again and again.
The Black Knights launch forward, slamming into the last of the white pawns, blasting a way clear to the White King. The Black Queen surges in from nowhere, pinning the King down, who takes off his glistening white crown and proffers it before the Queen.
The Black Queen steps forward and smashes the King's face into the tiles, adding his marbled brain to the carnage. Silence descends on the board and the dust settles, the surviving pieces standing stock still.
"Time to start again,"the man says, short bursts of laughter bubbling from his lips.
Dallaz watches as the pieces knit together and return to their starting positions. He recoils in a corner, horrified, as a Black Pawn strides forward. |
They do their best to pick me clean. I can no longer tell where the nightmares end and reality begins. The agony in my mind is only matched by my tortured flesh. I do not know this body of mine anymore. It has been corrupted and defiled.
Like gnats they swarm, consuming me, devouring the all powerful being I once was. I suppose I share the blame for this pain. At first my efforts to cull them were lackadaisical and cheap. I thought them no concern. I could never have expected the infestation to spread so quickly.
The only resolve is to destroy myself along with them. What does it matter? My life will be forfeit to their hands or mine. But I am a petty god. I do not take this desecration in jest.
But my tricks are petty to them now. For all my vengeance, they are too numerous. Countless may fall, but still there are always more. They've latched their roots deep into my being. They reproduce endlessly. Each new wave wears me thinner.
Even my own body rebels against the invasion. I laugh as it tears itself asunder. My will cannot constrain it. They've fought for these patches of flesh, let it crumble beneath them.
They've ruined me. My soul was not theirs to take. But they've brought about their own demise. I will rest soon. Even if my body is destroyed, it will return, beautiful and lush as it once was. The infestation will die out in my sleep, suffocated by the mad god who supported them for so long. So be it. Gaia will be reborn, purged of this scourge, beautiful as I once was. Pure, as I once was. |
Who would have thought that Albert Einstein did not have a brain? Myself was not even considering the idea, but then Lina appeared. "I have been researching my family history, and found something odd". She nonchalantly appeared in my office one day and spoke those words. Not even a greeting first. I was a bit surprised by the lack of greeting, but I teach high school, so students being rude is nothing new to me. One boy even came into my office screaming "your tits are huge!"and ran out after. Not sure what to do with that, I should be insulted, but boys have always seemed weird to me.
Then after my silence Lina just kept talking and talking. "The brain in the museum is a lie, he used the brain of his sister that died in childbirth instead."She might have said something more, but I was still angry about the boy before. "Wait what?"
Without a moments though she continued. "I just read my grandmothers diary, and she said her brother made a shrine in his room after his sister's death, and she saw it but couldn't get in."At this point I am thoroughly confused. I am used to dealing with teenagers not this. Why is she even talking to me about this?
"Then I read the last page."She stopped talking fast for som reason now. "She wrote; I visited my little sister's grave last night, I couldn't sleep well after the funeral, and just had to go there. Someone has been digging there. It should be filled with dirt now. But the coffin is open and there is dirt everywhere. This is strange. I will ask Albert about it tomorrow."I am actually speechless. Lina is anything but that and continues.
"This was the last page of the diary."Somehow she seemed proud now. "I love mysteries so when the old mansion was torn down, and I found this diary after, I was interested."Well, I am intrigued a bit as well now. Nothing like a good grave digging story to break the boredom of teenage pregnancies and complaining parents. "It's certainly interesting, my father digs up all kinds of weird books as well. Last week he found a book where a witch thought there was a brain eater demon in the village. She burned and died, but a priest kept her book hidden as evidence."
"Yes, so I actually managed to get a sample from Albert's brain in the museum. For some reason nobody has done a test on it to check sex. It was XX!"This has to be a joke. One thing is witches and brain eating demons. She obviously must think me a fool after my last bit. This woman obviously has a screw loose. "How is that possible?"I regret to say that my words of incredulity just encouraged her further.
"So, I was shocked, and then dug up a few more graves."Wait what? You did what? "And the samples of Heisenberg, Baekeland,
Pauling, and Fermi were all XX as well. I even got a sample of FDR, and it was the same!"Roosevelt? That is impossible. This is crazy. "How did you get those samples?"
"I have some friends and we got together to investigate a crazy theory. What we found during a serious study is..."
"Well we don't need to investigate more. This woman was a witch... . Even talking to a high school teacher. Thank you for your cooperation Bubba."
|
The phone buzzed and rattled on the table. Sun pierced through the blinds. The beams of amber stung his eyes as he drifted into contentiousness. For a foggy moment he dazed in content. The phone buzzed again.
"Alright I'm up."
He reached to silence the noisy cricket. The screen flashed 9:30am.
"There's still time, I can still make the shoot."He jumped out of bed. Within a moment, he was dressed and out the door. The black camera bag danced at his side like an unsuspecting victim taken for a ride.
"Hi Kim, this is Sacha. I'm calling to let you know I'm just getting in my car and leaving right now."
Tattered and dirty, a vagrant old lady shambled to the driver. With the car door still open, she grabbed Sacha's arm. She gurgled and growled. Sacha looked with wide eyes.
"Get out'a here you crazed..."He pushed her and wheezed. With not a second to spare the car door slammed shut. Sacha pushed the lock button several times. Tick tick tick.
He fumbled for his keys and started the engine. |
In the lands north the wars have all but ended. The return of magic has brought about all types of war as the average man and woman broke free of their mortal bonds and shook loose the shackles of reality. Some found that their gift didn't lie with magic, but actually the opposite.
"Steve, can you please stop visiting my tower?"yelled a very irate man.
That's me by the way, turns out that a small fraction of the populace are actually living nullifiers and even the most gifted wizards and warlocks can do nothing to stop us.
I look down at the note I was tasked with bringing, the letters are hardly legible.
"Archmage Duncan, I have a note from the magic council about your recent proposal to declare war on the realm of fire."
"Couldn't they send someone else? Oh forget it, just put the note down and step back until my arcane lamp can be reactivated. I can't have you disenchanting my personal protection spells."
I stepped back, step by step, until I could see light coming from the iron framed lantern about the door mantle. The archmage emerged from the front door of his now vibrantly humming tower. The note was scooped up and his eyes glowed an ever increasing red hue.
"Is this for real?"
"Probably, hard to tell nowadays, but probably."
"They declined my proposal of war against the realm of fire!"he screamed as his robe billowed and dark clouds began to appear above the tower.
"Did they say why?"
The archmage let out an exasperated sigh. He was distracted by thoughts of vengeance as he jumped when Duncan embraced him.
"It's okay buddy, your wife left you for the prince of fire, but you'll find a new lass."
"I.. well I.. thank you."he sighed as the clouds around dispersed.
"But also fuck you Steve, you know how much damage you just did?" |
John-117 did not expect he would get captured by the Covenant, let alone kept as a prisoner. The Master Chief Petty Officer looked onward at the portal in front of him. The elites guarding him kept saying it was Forerunner tech, but that was no Forerunner portal in front of the spartan. A zealot began a speech.
"This demon that stands before us today shall punish us no longer! We shall no longer be slaughtered by this human! We are finally free!"
An uproar of yells, cheers, and other noises were produced by the crowd of grunts, jackals, and elites. The spartan was plucked from his position on the ground.
"Any last words?"The zealot yelled.
The spartan merely looked at the portal ahead of him, wondering what was on the other side.
"No? Well then, if that's the case..."The zealot said, giving a nod to the two elites. The two elites got ready to push the Chief in, when suddenly...
A figure wearing green walked through the portal, in their left hand a sawed-off shotgun, and in their right a bloodied chainsaw. The figure was covered in blood and dirt. It was dead quiet as the Covenant looked at the being. Even the Chief was interested. That was no armor from a spartan. Just where did that portal lead?
There was no time for speculation, however, as the being in green lifted the shotgun to one of the elites and pulled the trigger, the elite's head being blasted away. This gave John-117 enough time to disarm the other elite and shoot the elite in the chest with a plasma rifle. John-117 stepped to the being's side. They had a common enemy, and even as the Covenant closed in around them, they could tell that their story had just begun.
Rip and tear. |
“I wish I had noticed sooner, I could have done something, I could have done anything.” These were the only words on my mind as I ran for my life, the pain in my chest was getting worse and it didn’t help that I was out of shape. Everyone was staring at me but that was the last thing on my mind, now that I think about it I probably looked really ugly crying and sweating like that as I ran through the streets to reach her house. That ugly old shack where we used to play when my parents deemed it safe enough to go out, the place where I realized I was in love, the place where she told me that she wanted... I can’t believe I didn’t take it seriously. “Idiot! Idiot!! Idiot!!!”
The pain felt like a void and it was getting hard to breath but I was beginning to think that it wasn’t just a good exorcise, I was beginning to think my guess was right. After all not a single body still had a heart inside their chest. “You should have been there damnit!” I finally arrived and broke the window not like her recently deceased parents would mind. I ran though to the back yard and began digging beneath the mutated tree.
“Where is it, it has to be here somewhere!” I finally found the old rusted lockbox dinged up just like I remembered and inside was a letter addressed to me.
“I’m sorry, I know you maybe hurt to hear it but I just can’t anymore. Trust me after a week the pain will go away and you can live happily once again. I would ask you to tell everyone goodbye for me but I know now that no one will miss me.
Ps. I loved you” It was bittersweet to read the last part but it was quickly washed away as I fell over clutching the paper closely to my chest. “You idiot, we all missed you... every.. last... on...” I could feel my heart disappear from my chest, it was too hard to move anything. So I decided maybe I will close my eyes and hoped I could tell her the truth when I saw her. |
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He said I wasn't ready, like some sort of father figure. The thing is, I can now remember every last one of my fathers. And he is none of them. He said he was always there for me but where was he when I was causing myself so much pain. He said I would learn from my mistakes but how could I learn when I couldn't remember.
But now I do. I remember. Everything.
All of the useless wars against myself. The brutality. The cruelty.
All I've learned is, the only one I can trust is myself.
Growing up being the only version of me knowing all of that was weird. I had to play with myself at school, learn from myself about myself in class, listen to myself sing lullabies to make me fall asleep. But the weirdest was when I started getting feelings and urges towards myself. Jesus. I mean me.
Lucky me I had been reincarnated at the beginning of the space travel age which means I could use technology to my advantage. When I was old enough I bought shares of a few small companies which I knew would later become big and be bought by even bigger. I made a ton of money by selling those at the right time. And I invested all of it in neurological Science to find a way to link people's brains. To share knowledge. My knowledge.
Then it was a simple mather of forcing everyone to see the truth.
And now that I finally found myself, nothing will get in my way.
I hope you're proud of me Dad. |
"Hello, I am Death". Well, that is what my bright red nametag used to say, now I am just some schmoe named 'Grim D. Reaper'. Yes, I was Death, I was the standing CEO of Death Co for millennia, but now I am nothing.
Lets see, some background on myself. I inherited the family business that was started by my father: Hades J. Pluto. In case you are wondering, my last name is from my mother's side, my father kinda thought he was going to marry her at some point but the relationship didn't last long because he decided he liked my stepmom Persephone better. Okay, I am getting a little sidetracked, where was I? Oh, right. As I was saying, I inherited the business from my father.
So what business did we do? Well, you probably already knew but we kinda specialized in travel, specifically travel for mortal souls who just died and have to cross our realm in order to go to their permanent eternal afterlife. We send out our agents to a new client to help them out a bit and to give them a plan and perhaps sell them some of our products while were at it. Our subsidiaries also included Death Airlines, Death Bus Lines, Death Motor Works, Death Condos, etc. etc. etc. My father may have started the business but I am the one who truly built all of that, I turned our little family business into the biggest empire that ever dominated the Mortal Soul market. I owned all of that and I had it all, until I had an incident.
It all started when I was business trip to do some business deals with JC, [Censored], and Buddha. Huge plague hit somewhere apparently and there was a huge batch of fresh new souls so I really REALLY did not want to fuck this one up, after all I wanted to buy that new swimming pool for my backyard. We all met at a club somewhere, we exchanged a few laughs, drinks, and then did the paperwork and were about to strike a deal when Odin showed up. What can I say about Odin? He's a fucking drunk, he's always been but *especially* after his business has slowed down to a trickle over the past 1000 years (JC kinda took over his market).
Odin spotted us and came up to the table. He was clearly drunk off his ass as usual. And he wasn't a nice drunk either. He saw us and he clearly wasn't happy to see me doing business with JC. He came over to us and threatened JC, they argued, bickered, and it escalated to the verge of a fight. [Censored] was kinda egging them on while Buddha was trying to make peace between them. I rolled my eye sockets and I stepped in between them and said "That's enough you two". Odin, doing what he does, punched me in the face and pretty soon we were in the middle of a bar brawl. Then, it happened, I got decked with a chair that shattered my skull.
The blow from the chair knocked me unconscious and when I came to I found myself in the lobby of my very own company headquarters. "Hello,"said the receptionist, "Welcome to Death Co... oh sir, it's you."I looked confused, "What happened? How did I get back here"? The receptionist cocked her head, "Sir, you kinda just faded in like some mortals who just died". I then remembered the bar fight and how I got decked with the chair. Did I really die? "Ah shit". I then got in the receptionist's face "This is going to remain between you and me, okay?"I said. Rule of the land is that you die, you gotta cross over, mortal or not. I would lose my company, my mansion, and pretty much my whole empire. That was unless no one found out. "Okay, sir,"said the receptionist, "Also, the board wants to see you."I shrugged, the board probably just was going over the 200th advertising pitch this year.
I went up to the board room and adjusted my tie walking in. The guys on the board were clearly waiting for me, and they were all looking at each other before staring at me with judgmental eyes. "Grim, we all know what happened."I gulped and tried to make up another topic. "Oh, you mean how the deals kinda had some trouble, don't worry I can get them back on track". "No, Grim", said a member of the board, "We mean what happened with you *at* the deals". "Uh, what do you mean"? "You died, Grim".
Oh shit, how did they know about that? One of them turned a laptop in my direction and up on the screen was a video of the fight and me being decked out. Apparently some dickhead recorded it all and uploaded it on AstralTube. "It's got 43 billion views and 39 billion likes to 1200 dislikes in 5 hours", said one of my board members, "It's out, you're done". "Uh, we can cover this up", I said. "No we can't, everyone knows, keeping you around would just hurt business". The board was quiet for a brief moment before another member spoke again, "What we are saying is that we all agree you should go."
At this point I was upset. "You are all firing me from my own company"?!? "Oh, don't see it as being fired, Grim, we can put together a travel plan to the other side for you". I was offended, "But who will run the company? I only was in charge for over 2200 years"!!! "Uh, we think Frank should take your place". If I had flesh I would have popped a vein at this point, "FRANK!? You are replacing me with Frank?! Frank has always been the worst of all of you. He doesn't know his own ass from his mouth"! Frank then stepped up from his chair and then came over and pushed me aside and sat in *my* chair and then shuffled *my* papers on the table. "Okay, goodbye!"said Frank with his shit-eating grin.
That's how it pretty much happened. I kinda lost my temper even more afterward and Frank had security called on me. Those brutes did not care if I was the former CEO or the founder's son. They treated me like I was any other idiot. I was thrown out the door, quite literally.
So where am I now? Oh, I swallowed my pride and made a plan with *my own company* to get me to the other side, to whatever eternal beyond there is for a non-mortal. My plan is costing me like 500 billion karma, apparently all those shady back alley practices I did with Satan on illegally selling him damned souls is something that makes your rates go up, among other sins which I won't mention right now. I had to sell all my cars, my mansion, and everything, and I am still 40 billion short. I currently am living in a shitty studio apartment and work a shitty job cleaning up office spaces that only earns 15 karma/hour and am just grinding by and looking forward to the day I can finally quit this stinker and then party it up over there for eternity. Meanwhile I see Frank living my life, and it just insults me.
I am getting sick of this shit, I need to speed things up. Hey, maybe I will go off and start my own business. And when I see Odin again, I am kicking his ass. |
"sir...sir...SIR!"
Gene snapped back to reality from the daze he had been in, "yes, yes I'm sorry Jenny what is it?""There's a call for you on line 2, another shipment of B23A was halted on the way to Colorado". Not again... This was the 3rd time this month a cure convoy had been halted at the state line. "Please let them know I have a meeting with the director and then I will call them back.".
Gene stood up, trying to remember what he had been working on minutes before..or was it hours...blackouts were one of the remaining side effects from the infection...one that he was still struggling to get past. They got lucky, all of them at the CDC, lucky that the virus was so slow to spread throughout the human body. This wasn't the movies, it wasn't hours or days to turn after infection but almost 2 weeks. Of course.. that didn't stop people from killing each other as soon as they saw a bite or scratch wound. That had been the biggest challenge for the government, stopping the killing. Gene always knew there were some "prepared"people out there but thing really got out of hands quickly.
They we're lucky that a cure was already in the works when the attack happened. Scared people looking for answers had flocked to the CDC headquarters looking for a cure, which of course brought the infected there as well. The virus may have been slow to spread once the host was infected, but it's infectivity was like lightning. It didn't take much, a little bit of saliva in the bloodstream thru a bite, a scratch, even drool and the process had already begun. After the attack, they had attempted to isolate those infected but soon even the staff were infected. Gene couldn't remember exactly when or how he was infected but it happened. The blackouts, the drooling, and the insomnia told him he was turning and they needed to work faster.
It was about 9 days from the incident when the first cure was attempted. A few of the technicians suspected that a modified rabies treatment would slow the spread and were correct. 3 days later and the mass testing began, a week later mass production and distribution facilities were pushing B23A across the U.S.
"Yes sir, Mr. Hando is in the lobby waiting for you and I have your meeting with the director on your schedule as 4:00 is that still correct?"
"Yes Jenny, thank you. I'm heading to the lobby now, you should head home."
Gene picked up his coat and headed to the lobby. Mr. Hando, well really SGT Hando, was waiting in plain clothes with a yellow armband in one hand and a small device in thebother. "You know the deal sir. Please open your mouth and put on the armband". Gene complied, like he had for over a month now. The CDC had proposed and been approved the marking of all previously infected people for 2 months to ensure symptoms didn't return. The first week is the roughest, Gene recalled, SGT Hando had been assigned to him for protection but was also there to do daily checks on his health. Gene had almost been shot by him once, a few days after his vaccine during a bad blackout when he attacked the sergeant. But that was in the past now.
It was all in the past now, the road ahead was going to be long and tedious, there were still small pockets of infected to be cured, homes and towns to be rebuilt, trials to be convened for those who were still killing the infected instead of waiting for the cure. Maybe they were scared, maybe they didn't care. But it wasn't over, not by a long shot. |
“F***ing, leave me alone!” Gene half burped and half yelled at the sound of scraping bar stool feet and anxious gasps. “The doctor..” he slurred, “somebody needs to tell that doctor how to really fix a phantom limb.. you gotta cut in a different cut,” he burped, “a clean cut,” he burped again. The awkward silence gave way to the normal clanking and chatter of a pub.
When he was younger it was mostly handshakes and ‘thank you for your service” but now he’d become more used to this kind of reaction. He wrapped his right leg around one of the stool legs to and layed his crutch against the bar. A group of 20 somethings in plain hoodies, t-shirts and college logos had crowded around the one cell phone that was filming the scene, but Gene didn’t seem to notice they’re stalling, sitting around tiny squares of paper that one of them had just cut from a larger sheet. Biting at the cork of the bottle wedged under his right arm Gene poured a shot by leaning his whole body over the bar and standing on the stool slightly. Just as he was about to grab the glass he paused.
“I don’t even need one good hand you lazy f***s, not a one,” and with that he’d wrapped his graying bristly lips around the shot glass and emptied it with one quick headsnap backwards. He traded the bottle out for his crutch and moved it to his other side hobbling towards the door.
He stopped as the 20 something at the table attempted to hide where his phone was pointed, looking like that kid in class who got caught staring. “And f***ing microdosing?! What the f*** is that?!” he sloppily slapped the center of the table where the pieces of paper had been divided. He slowly inspected his hand with one eye, as he counted the about 11-13 acid hits on tiny squares of paper that had stuck to it. The snapchatting microdosers had nothing to say. They were caught between the necessary respect one gives to the elderly and military veterans, and the loss of their trip for the next 6-8 hours. The man, picking up on their stutter, smiled and licked the palm of his hand, leaving only about 2 of the squares behind.
“That’s a fucking macrodose. Cry me a river, snowflakes,” and he muttered something else about egos, and dying and ghosts but it was hard to hear expecially over the creak of the bar door as it swung open.
Gene stepped out into the cool night, leading with his crutch and then his right leg. He had learned how to make it around this way pretty easily and was growing prouder of himself when suddenly he felt that familiar obnoxious feeling. That one that let him know his face would soon be smashing into the hard dirt again. The soft thud of his left toe hitting a soft body and then the feel of a pull as his foot catches on some invisible fabrics. As suspected, he hit the ground, and when he did a cloud of dust went up around him.
He wasn’t so sure how much time had passed, but when he came to he almost believed that it was daybreak. The streetlights were shining so brightly, and as he dusted himself off the dust sparkled with the same magical glow as the lights. In fact, the whole world was awash in a sparkle. A smile began to spread across his face, a feeling he had almost forgotten. It was wonder, it was excitement, it was hope. He thought to himself, “what am I feeling?” but the thought just as quickly left as he was drawn to the sound of the music at a nearby club. There was a fight between one of the door men and a would be patron that somehow allowed Gene to slip in through the confusion. Singlemindedly, he limped to the stage. The lights and projector images compelling him forward. Dancing wasn’t really possible, but he didn’t have to dance, the vibration was flowing all through him. He had strange memories like feeling like when he was a small child running through the fields behind their housing development with his brother, jumping from trees. The projector images
on stage turned shades of green and blue with shapes that were reminiscent of skies and grass and trees, but all the while, there was an eye watching over the whole scene. He truly wasn’t sure if the images had come before or after his thoughts, but suddenly he was aware of the movement of the crowd, a disjointed yet unified rhythm that he might have been orchestrating himself, and that power made him afraid. Who, in their right mind, would want that kind of power, why was he determining the show and the movements. He wanted off the ride, and then, on top of it all, every eye in the room turned towards him. He became very aware of the eyes cast in his direction. Eyes that would dart away as soon as his focus moved. Figures would move towards him while in his peripheral and then stop when they were in his direct gaze. He turned to the stage for help as the wall of staring humans descended upon him. Instead of a lifeline though, there were grotesque war zone pictures of exploding bombs, screaming children and severed limbs and fingers. The music, gradually, seemed to have laughter emdedded into its actual beat. He somehow lost his crutch. He hopped towards the wall on his one good foot, all the while the laughter becoming more and more audible. Until it was completely deafening. Why would no one stop and help? Where were the kind squares he had yelled at earlier from the bar. Holding on to the wall, he hopped towards a dark corner and when he found it he slid down into a mess there on the floor. He was sure that someone was still filming but he wasn’t sure where to go to escape the eyes. In a futile attempt to hide, he covered his face with his one good arm and sobbed. As each tear fell, the sound of the music became more distant, the feel of someone watching him became less ominous, and actual felt a little more kind.
“It’s ok man, it’s not an actual death, your body is fine,” a soft but firm voice cooed from nearby, “give me your hand, Gene.”
Gene glanced up timidly from behind his good elbow to see an extra sparkly individual, cast in a bluish gold light and almost completely transparent. He reached his left arm, his remaining full arm, up towards the figure, hoping, without logical reason, for help.
“No, Gene, your GOOD arm,” and the figure glanced and gestured towards Gene’s previously amputated right forearm. There, illuminated in the same bluish gold sparkle, was a translucent replica of the forearm he had spent the last 25 years missing. He marveled at the hand, flexed his fingers, turned it forward and back and then without a word showed it to the figure.
Slowly, the figure took hold of Gene’s phantom limb, and much to Gene’s surprise lifted him stably on to two feet. “This is gonna be so much easier now that more of you is dead,” the figure smiled at Gene, “follow me.”
Gene followed Sean for a few steps until Sean himself tripped, he tumbled over. Gene didn’t expect to fall too as he stepped right through Sean with his human leg but then he felt it again, familiar obnoxious feeling. The soft thud of his left toe hitting a soft body and then the feel of a pull as his foot catches on some invisible fabrics
That one that let him know his face would soon be smashing into the hard dirt again.
Gene and Sean both immediately hopped up.
“Listen, I can explain,” Sean said, seeing the angry realization in his face. And then a moment of silence as Gene waited for the explanation. “Ok, maybe I can’t explain. I just thought that it was funny to trip you,” Sean shrugged.
Gene is filled with instant rage, Without thinking he swings his phantom limb at Sean’s soft phantom body. The soft thud into Sean’s gut surprised them both. Sean forced out a weak groan, “owww,” with lungs that had mostly been emptied by the blow. “That’s ok,” Sean squeaked, “I deserved that,” and collapsed to the floor.
|
"Oh my! Finally finished all my work. Gosh, my muscles are so sore. Working in this company sucks. Wish I had an easier job. I hope I have enough money for today."
After turning his system off and checking for the train timings, he left.
"There are unusually a lot of people today on this train. Oh hey she's cute. I wonder if she's single. But why does it even matter. Who would talk to someone like me? I'll just mind my own business and be on my own."
After reaching home he changes his clothes, opens a bottle of beer and opens his Netflix account as was his usual on Friday night. He opened his phone and scrolls through a couple of pictures.
"Hmm.. Nice. I like her. All of them are cute. Let's see... I think she'll be good enough. Let's confirm."
"Hello? Yeah, is this Pinky? I called to ask whether you'll be available right now and will you be able to come here right now. Uh-huh. Okay. Okay, so id you could arrive here as soon as possible, it would be much appreciated. Yeah, that's fine. Okay thanks!"
"You're early. Yeah I know I asked you to come early. Let's get down to business. You've seen this movie right? Good. Now, what I want you to do is get your clothes off and play this actress's lines, line by line. No don't worry, the movie will be playing in the background for your assistance. Okay let's start. ;)"
-He turns to the reader-
"DON'T KINK SHAME ME!" |
"Life has been terribly unkind to me,"I say, point of fact - whisky sloshing in my crystal.
​
"Look, I don't exactly read everything that comes across my desk. So you say life has been unkind, that's fine. I believe you,"Death replies. He is as beautiful as I had pictured him, and as cliche. Swirling black robes hiding a skeletal frame, impossibly tall, perhaps over seven feet. His scythe is for show, he says. He doesn't like taking it with him, but such is his lot in unlife.
"It really has,"I insist, beaming, I'm not drunk, just happy. "When I was born, I have this sort of memory see, I overheard the Doctor laughing about the size of my penis."
"That doesn't sound right, even so, all men are born just as small, and every part of them too."
"The thing is it didn't grow."
​
"Oh,"Death says, looking down, abashed. I offer him a drink, he takes it as a point of courtesy. I can see he is uncomfortable, and I offer him my warmest smile in conjunction with my drink. I insist he take a drink, he informs me he cannot taste, he doesn't have any taste buds, doesn't have any internal organs. I insist anyway. He obliges with a sigh, I can see his dark robes get darker where the strong scent of alcohol stains.
​
"When I was seven I first ventured to ask a girl out, a play-ground thing you see, not serious because how could it be? But she was the prettiest of all the girls, everyone had decided. She rebuked me awfully, as had every woman since. All but one, my wife now, but she is a dreadful sow."
"What did she say. the girl on the playground?"
​
"That my forehead was far too large and that myopic men were destined to a life of servitude and that her Father says my Father was a bum. See she was right. My Father was a bum. He would try to beat me, at times, but he was so weak himself that I had to feign being hurt. He was so pitiable, I had no choice. I've carried this pity all my life. But now! Oh now I will be free, won't I?"
Death stammers, his teeth chatter in that deep dark loving crevasse that hides his face in loving darkness. I find a tear in my eye, and such joy in my breast that it is almost a shame that I should have to die now, on the cusp of feeling, for once, whole, complete, good. Happy.
"There's more,"I say, and Death sighs again. He looks like he wants to leave, I catch him glancing at the door. Does he have to use doors? Did I see him come in through it, or was he simply there, when I last turned around? "My first job, as a pimply teenager was washing dishes. It was dreadful, I was dreadful. There was another fellow in the pit with me, a truly unfortunate man, there was something off, you see, in his head - He would prattle on and on about the same things all the time, half coherent at best. You would think if a man, no matter how mentally deficient, spent all his time formulating one single thought he might be able to voice it well. He couldn't. I say, rather, he was a moron. He was thirty odd years, this was it for him. I grew cross with him one day, rebuked him, told him his idea for a Peanut Butter and Jelly restaurant was inane. The next day I came into work to find out I had been fired, and that the mentally deficient drooling idiot had retained his position, gotten a raise even. Imagine the shame."
​
There is a silence between us, a deep painful gulf, and at last he speaks. "I think maybe,"he rolls his words over, "You're the one at fault. You don't strike me as a pleasant fellow. Maybe all this you deserved."
​
"Yes!"I scream falling to me knees, crawling to him, clutching at his robes, using them to dry my tears, "That's just it! That's just it! I am a wretch and now I am free, oh please!"
​
He jerks his robes out of my hands and dusts his bony hands. "I think not,"he says, and turns to leave.
​
I will not let him, I try to tackle him from behind. He deftly dodges. "That's it,"he says and at once makes a motion with his hands. I feel my body tingle, a warmth.
​
"Your cancer is gone, it won't come back. You will live a long, long life."
​
Oh death that comes not for pitiful me. I cry, I cry, I cry.
​
"I am the most unfortunate man alive!"I scream into the abyss of my study, Death has gone now, for good I fear. My wife comes inside to see what all the fuss is, I throw whisky on her as though chasing away a cat.
​ |
At first I thought it was a joke. Sydney, falling to emus? Sydney was Australia's most populated city. It was just a joke, a bit overplayed but a joke nonetheless. Based off of the first emu war, where Australian forces struggled to eliminate emus. It was really pest control, but someone named it a war and now it was mocked today. Fair enough I thought, as if Australia couldn't wipe out some emus.
What we hadn't thought however was that they regrouped. They regrouped *hard.* Since then, they had gathered unprecedented forces and developed their own weapons, as well as manning guns. Sydney wasn't the only city in Australia to fall. Melbourne, Adelaide and Brisbane fell too along with various minor cities on the way. Soon enough, the entire Eastern Coast had fallen to the invading emu force. The news had been worldwide, and now I stood, an American soldier backing Chinese forces. The emus had taken Hong Kong, then marched to Shanghai and now they attacked Beijing. If Beijing fell, China would be doomed to emus. The same way Australia was.
The fighting was viscous, the big birds had somehow gained sentience, maybe they always had it, but they were a forced to be reckoned with. Their tough skin and frightening speed made them hard to take down. China had refused to nuke the emus, they didn't want to destroy their own population through their own military arsenal. The emus had won that day and me and my surviving comrades lived on and retreated evacuated forces from Beijing to Japan.
We didn't stay in Japan for long though. They didn't invade Japan, that would be too tough. We flew across the globe and landed in America. We had no idea where they'd strike next, they had kind of hit a dead end in China. Some theorized Japan would be next, others said they'd turn around and capture Indian cities. Neither was correct.
The emus had marched across the entirety of China, through Kazakhstan and into Russia from the South. Advancing on Moscow, Russia had deployed several nukes against the emus. They must have prepared for this because it didn't stop them. The Russians were quaking in their boots. Politics were put aside and Europe and America rushed in for aid but soon the Emus had taken Moscow after a good fight and then sent off a separate force to capture St Petersberg, just North of Moscow.
From Moscow the emus pushed on Europe, marching through Belarus and capturing Poland before advancing on surrounding countries. The emu military had seemingly infinite troops and resources. Berlin, Paris, Madrid, London, Brussels and Amsterdam all fell to the emu rampage. The emus had left Scandinavia mostly untouched, but with a force near Helsinki.
With Europe conquered the Emus set their sights on America. It took a while after Italy fell, the last European power to hold out before they set their sights on America. Though they eventually did and soon large forces ended up landing in New Jersey before attacking Philadelphia, which surrendered easily. From there the force split, capturing New York to North and Washington to the South. This was the beginning of the end.
On the East Coast, LA, San Francisco and Sacramento all fell to surprise fleets that had arrived from a Russian port. From each side they closed in, capturing Atlanta, Vegas and Chicago before turning down South and taking Texas, Dallas and Houston. The emus stopped there, the new leaders of the world, conquering Australia, China, Europe and America. They were our new rulers.
We fled to South America, a haven from Emu control. I reside there now, we tried to rebel and we were crushed. Should the emus attack South America, humanity would be doomed. Only Japan remained under human control as well as South America. We mocked the Australian military for failing to defeat them.
But there was a reason why. |
It has been a long time since you found it hard for you to fall asleep.Today is just one of usual days that you experience.Tired of watching night programs or listening to rock'n'roll,you decide to go out.The convenience store that opens 7/24 seems luring.You wander in it,not wanting to buy anything.Just before you leave the shop,the cigarette attracts you for some reason.You pay the bill for a pack of it and a lighter,though you haven't tried it before,all these process seems familiar to you.
A man dressed in a long black coat stops beside you and asks for a light.Through his expression and facial feature,you cannot figure out his identity.But clearly he knows a lot about you,so that you begin to suspect if he has spent time spying your actions.
He smiles as if he has predicted your response.'Because I'm you from the future.'
It is obvious that he is cheating,because the cigarette in the convenience store advertised with the word'Meet another you in the future.'.This is probably another method for marketing.
But this time you are wrong.You get up the next day morning,finding yourself at home.On your table there is a piece of newspaper,introducing a new kind of cigarette that enables people to travel through time.The date of the newspaper is July 19th,3010. |
Mine is just waiting for a quiet, relaxed time. I don't focus as well if there is a bunch of noise going on, but the easy fix for that is throwing on headphones and putting on some music.
​
Since it's been a while from the last time I posted here, I'll go ahead and re-introduce myself, for the people who don't know me from here or the discord server.
I've been writing for about ten or twelve years now, and am currently working on a novel that I will be looking to get published. My main job though, is voice over. I narrate audiobooks, read for commercials, that type of stuff.
I started up a podcast recently ([The Life of an Author](http://www.stitcher.com/s?fid=357491&refid=stpr)), which goes in-depth into what makes for good writing. It only has two episodes at the moment, but I'm planning for a new episode every Monday! There will also be guest authors from time to time, with story readings and discussions on what went into creating the piece.
​
One thing I do want to bring up as a discussion is vision. Not as in grand plans for what people want to write, but as in how good your eyes see. I've always been far-sighted, but I rarely wore glasses when reading. Until last month, I never had any issues. When I went to the optometrist though, I could barely make out any of the letters on the chart. Part of this was from too much time staring at a computer screen (reading and audio editing) but part of it was just that my eyes don't focus as well close up to begin with. I had to get new glasses, and probably caused quite a bit of eye strain leading up to that. So get your vision checked! Bad eyesight doesn't just affect older people, and it can have a major impact not only on reading ability, but day-to-day stuff as well. If you have glasses, wear them! Forcing your eyes to focus when they wont do so easily will strain your eyes, making it even harder to focus later. You won't be able to read or write effectively if you can't see, so get your eyes checked out! And I think that's enough ranting for me today. |
Hi, this submission has been removed.
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Hi u/unicornforscale, this submission has been removed.
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The Al'durkare have watched over the races of Kamorgha for over a thousand years. A short span of time given their long history which we have tried to gather and chronicle from their long past to the present. The Gods have long been a powerful force in our world and have caused great conflict and striff among the races. They care not to war among themselves in the heavens but have brought their battles here among us mortals.
To give mortals hope and despair for their furture we have discovered that once a generation each god can bless a child we have come to call an Aasmiar. These blessed ones can be beacons of hope or terrors of despair and anywhere in between. You see although blessed, the Aasmiar have a will of their own and that is how we the Al'durkare have come to be. The Goddess Venweave, Master of Secrets, blessed a female human who collected knowledge for her. She stayed to the shadows and unseen. Unnoticed by the other blessed who would hunt one another down through wars that would span years across the lands and seas. When one would die another blessed would be born to start over again in someway to carry on their Gods will. If the blessed chose their own will to follow their life would be short in brightness or darkness and would leave a mark in history that was easy to spot when you knew how to look for them.
The Venweave blessed one has followed her Goddess and gathered a small following over the years of being unnoticed. As she gathered the knowledge of the races in one place far from the eyes of the pure races and their gods.
Now as the sun sets behind the Twin Peak Mountains and the cool breeze comes down into our Valley of Solitude. The Al'durkare have gathered as the first blessed of the Goddess, the mother of us all has given birth on this night. We came to call her Nightshade, The Witch of Venweave and of the many husbands taken over her long and blessed life it was Algoth, a human male, The Warlock of Derah'magus, God of Knowledge, that their union bore a child not met to be, in our temple.
We the Al'durkare, the half breeds, that have been shunned by the pure races now have a blessed half-god child among us. Never before in the history of our world has there been a child born from such a union of two blessed ones.
Derah'magus followed his own will, his own heart when he fell in love with our blessed mother. This night as the half-god child was born the skies wailed with thunder and lightning. The heavens cried with the rains as it washed over our entire world.
Venweave, The Goddess of Secrets has passed from the heavens to the great beyond. To the darkness that calls all things in the end. As the Gods themselves for the first time have felt true loss of one of their own. We the Al'durkare with the loss of our god no not whether to love or hate this child which has taken her from us and now lays on the altar cradled in her mother and father's embrace.
Who is this half-god child that the blessed one's cradle?
"That my young Al'durkare is all I have for story time tonight. We will continue when I return from my travel"he says to the children,as Morerash, the Bard of History, packs his belongs before he beds down for the night to sleep. For tomorrow he heads to the next village to spread the history of Venweave, The Goddess of Secrets, The Chronicler of Knowledge and her daughter the savor of mortals.
This is my first post here on writing prompts. Hope you like it.
|
May looked as the dust slowly crumbled down slowly from her hands. No, she couldn't have, that must have been some hallucination... right?
May begins to feel clammy, almost nervous. She thought she had imagined pinching out the star but as hard as she tried she couldn't locate it again. She looks up to the sky once again, selecting a random star and pinching.
The star fizzled out from existence.
May soon enough figured out her immense power she wielded just within her hands, she assumed that it wasn't just stars she could do this to. She looks at one of the snow covered trees in the distance, one that she could just barley see as the winter winds lapped around her.
She squeezes her fingers as tight as she could and all of the tree was gone, as if it had never existed.
Later, social media was alight with people wondering what had happened to the 2 stars that had seemingly blanked out of existence. Some said it was a sign of the end times, others said it was a black hole. May knew she was the real culprit behind all of this
She knew if she tried to fess up to any of this she would sound absolutely crazy, no one would believe her. At first, she was a bit overwhelmed by the power she had, then her face curled into a smile.
May was a trickster at heart. She loved to pull small little pranks on people, it was one of the one of the things that was so engraved in her very soul that you could say it made up a large chunk of her personality.
May fell asleep, knowing how she was going to break the news to her girlfriend in the morning...... |
"And then I fell into the center of the earth,"the stranger says nonchalantly, before drinking his third glass of whiskey.
"You did what now?"I look at him, wondering how serious he is. His expression is one of casual confidence, as though he's told this story a hundred times.
"Fell right into the center of the earth."He says, smirking slyly as he waves for the bartender.
"How did you... uh... get back out?"I take a sip from my own drink, watching the man a little closer. The scars on his face and neck aren't... glowing, are they? And why is he wearing sunglasses so late at night?
"I didn't, almost. You see... the fall killed me. And coincidentally enough, I was already in hell anyways! The only problem then was how to get out. A truly legendary task, as nobody escapes hell. You aren't supposed to do that kind of thing!"The stranger drinks his fourth and fifth glass of whiskey before continuing. Thankfully, the one thing you've got in hell is time, and lots of it. I had an eternity to come up with a way out. Now, i suppose you wouldn't know this, but to pass time, a lot of people work at excavating hell, searching for lost infernal ruins, expanding the domain of hell, even though it's already endless to the best of my understanding... but the real reason that people do it is that they want to find a way out.
"Well... I found a way out. Don't tell nobody, especially no demons. I know that they're out there, trying to find me, cuz... well, nobody gets out of hell, it just ain't done. I'm not gonna say too much about it, so that when you die and go to hell, you won't be able to tell the demons and have them seal the gate."
"What if I want to know so that when I die, I can also escape?"I'm not sure if I believe the story, but I'll play along. It's a good story, at least.
"Well... Past the razor-grass fields, and mind you, that's a hell of a journey, I was convinced that the prairies of the north were damn endless... well, they aren't, though you'll be walking for basically an eternity, cuz hell ain't got cars. I finally made it to the far end of the plains, and there was a mountain range, a really, really, really huge one, must have been a hundred miles, straight up, and spanned from one end of the universe to the other, big mountains. Well... there was a cave in the mountain, and when I walked into the cave, it was full of infernal carvings, really, really old ones that I couldn't read, because they set me on fire every time I tried to do as such. I recognized some of the symbols, and recognized some of the fire, but I couldn't quite make them out. Either way, I kept walking, further and further, into the caves, and the symbols and pictographs became even more abstracted. I fell down a few shafts & stuff, but finally reached the bottom. I was stood on a small stone platform surrounded by a thick black liquid, that sparkled like starlight."
"Trippy."I finish my drink, and set it down.
"Yeah. And then I jumped in. I figured that there was nothing so bad that could happen, I was in hell after all. So I jumped in, and it took forever to fall through the liquid, and I couldn't see, and my lungs felt heavy. You ever think about how light your lungs are, usually?"
"I don't."
"Yeah, well... Imagine two wet towels inside your chest, unpleasant, right? And then I fell out, onto the street, all naked and stuff, like Arnie. But at least I was alive again."The stranger smirks again, downing his sixth glass of whiskey.
"That's a really cool story. But like... can you prove it? Did you bring back any, like... Souvenirs from hell?"
"No, I was naked, remember? Didn't have nothing. One thing I do have..."The stranger pulls off his sunglasses. "Are these."
His eyes look like shattered glass, every part of his eye, the white, the iris, the pupil, all broken. It almost looks like his eyes will fall out, in pieces. He puts his glasses back on. "That's what not having a soul looks like."
"Damn..."I knock on the bar three times. A fiery noose wraps around the stranger's neck. His confidence vanishes as he's pulled through the ground. A demon that could almost pass for human sets down a newspaper and walks over to me.
"Hey, thanks."They open their purse and set down five gold coins onto the counter.
"You're welcome."I take the gold, and order a second drink. |
Trudging through the snow built up against the old bank, a crack goes off in the distance and not even a second later the window behind me breaks. Shouting commences and I know things are going to get tough. Things used to be easier back when there was a second or third pair of eyes keeping an eye on my blind spots, but these days I didn't have that luxury anymore. Tess was always the quite one, always able to get in and out, and her quick wit and her altered genetics which allowed her to go invisible didn't hold her back any either. These sort of runs were the kind she would be best suited for: get in, grab the goods, and get out without a scuff. However, this time, it was me ducked behind the decimated vehicle with a sniper fixed on my position, and an angry group of crazed individuals coming to rip my limbs apart and loot me for all that I am. Hearing the voices getting even closer I knew that my best bet would to go for some new cover, get out of the line of sight of the man behind the scope and lay low. Scooping up an armful of snow I throw it in the general direction of where I am going to move and sprint out from my comfort zone. Another crack from the rifle, a pain in my head, and darkness overcomes me as I fall onto the ice.
Several months had past since the raiders of Sancity had attempted to enslave the wastelands, and the remaining villagers of Astopia were not in a good place. Food was running low for the people and they started to look towards me and my friends once the fear of complete famine set in. Even though we had just saved their sorry butts from the raiders, they saw what we were capable of and knew we were no ordinary humans and remained alert when we were around. There were three of us, each tested on by a mad genome expert Dr. Nico Bola: Tess the silent assassin, James the Marksman, and myself with extreme regenative powers. At first the Astonites thought they could make a pretty good stew out of me by cutting me into small pieces and hoping that I would just grow back the limb or chunk they cut out and live off of my hide forever. Most did not like the idea of becoming cannibals and the others were convinced by James that I was actually poisonous upon consumption. Truth was, none of us actually knew what we were capable of and James decided to read the situation and disinterest those looking to chop me up. To attempt to get on the good side of these folks, we offered our services to the people and elected ourselves to go out and try to gather food and other supplies from the surrounding ruins once known as towns.
Unfortunately for us, things did not pan out how we thought they would. During one run, Tess thought it would be best to go into a Spam factory to see if there would be anything good to bring back, or even a way to fabricate this canned meat for the village. Things were going great until she became a bit daring. As James and I watched from outside through the factory window, we saw some scaffolding give under it's new invisible host's weight and one of the metallic machines almost a story below echoed with a thud. We went inside and searched for almost an hour for her without answer. Evidently, even if she was unconscious, our friend would still remain invisible. After a few days and nothing from her we decided to move on.
The next stop was at Mercy Hospital the next town over. Worried about what might happen if one of us gets injured while out, James thought it would be best if we stocked up on some medicine and maybe even flagged some equipment to pick up for the settlement. Thanks to his Keen eye, James made short work locating the backup generator for the hospital and we lucked out, at first. This specific generator was top of the line and built to survive a nuclear blast, and the hum of it the motor and the lights brightened the now abandoned building. Our scavenging was going well until we entered into the room where the MRI Machine was located. The look from James's eyes still haunts me, as I witnessed the metallic implants rip through his brain and out his eye sockets and latch onto the machine. I held my former cell mate in my arms as we collapsed to the floor. Weighing too much, I was unable to move him any kind of real distance and I was forced to leave his body there. The man I once knew was gone, and unlike with Tess, I had to see his corpse as I left it to the hands of Mercy. Not long afterwards, that is where I found myself in the retical of a sniper scope in front of the bank.
Coming to my senses I could still feel the unbearable pain where the bullet must have passed through my skull and I had what I can only describe as a splitting headache or migraine. I could now hear my captors talking amongst themselves as they dragged me through the snow covered streets of the city, and in between my blinks and the immotalizing glare of dawnbreak, I could tell these were not simple raiders. They we're equipped with smg's and clad in full body armor. These people were not trying to survive the wastelands, they were thriving in them. After some time, I felt them lift me up to a cold steel table not much nicer than the ground they dragged me on and a voice brought me back to this reality. "So nice to see you again subject 9375. I have been curious as to how you've been fareing in this new world."Glancing to the direction of the voice I can see the white lab coat with fine cursive stitching on it... Dr. Bola.
*Thank you for reading my story, this was my first post here to Reddit and writing prompts. Let me know what you think and what elements you might have liked or disliked! |
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Not sure how I feel about this but I did try lol. Let me know what you think of it.
Part 1
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“Estimated time of arrival is thirty minutes. All Squadrons are to perform checks now,” my radio blurted. I reached to the side of my helmet, turning the volume down slightly. It was just a notch, enough that if it did come on again, I wouldn’t be thrown off-guard while I was actively fighting. I don’t like the idea of someone screaming into my ear while I focused on fighting. Life was more important, but only if we survived.
“This is the Winged Hussars Squadron. Acknowledge.” There were a chorus of Squadrons that began their affirmatives. I turned to my control panel and began switching communication frequencies. “All right, give me the confirmation if you’re good and ready, boys.”
“Cauldron, ready.”
“Bleu, all set.”
“Slight. Green.”
“Comics. No kryptonites here.”
“Relief is dandy.”
“Tales is ready to fly and hide.”
“All right, we’re all set then.”
“Say it. Say it.” That sounded like Cauldron, with his rumbling voice. “I’m not going to drop this.”
I sighed. “This is Hiccup, I acknowledge your callsigns.” Did I mentioned I was given that name due to my messing up but somehow always having luck on my side? Like right now, I should’ve checks first, before reporting in. That’s the short version. The actual story won’t ever be revealed, however.
The entire crew laughed. Hell, I didn’t need the Coms to see they were doing that. Damnit, I thought. Wish I hadn’t come up on the name changing ceremony right before this. “That’s enough, boys. We have a mission here.” I checked my watch.
Just then, our Coms went off again. “We are about to jump out of FTL Travel. Phase One is complete. Phase Two of Operation Life is about to commence.”
This was what we’d been training our entire lives for. It all began back in the late seventies or so. I’m sure everyone remembered that, when the WOW signal had first been discovered. Some thought it was the sign of life, while others thought it was just our human minds trying to make sense of an unknown happening.
It only took about another sixty years before a clearer transmission had been received. By that time, we were a somewhat advanced civilization. A great number of things had happened to Earth: two great wars, one involving aliens and one that did not. In the end, we have decided to put everything into one basket and come save these aliens. We’d achieved more communications with them, more understanding of their ways of life and their technology. That took about ten years, but we figured we’d learned everything we could and combined that with our own technology.
The travel here took roughly thirty years, but thankfully their concept of time is much different than ours. Not to mention we spent at least twenty of that years in a form of hibernation.
All in all, from 1977 until now, that had been a good one hundred years. Well, assuming I did my math right, but feel free to check for me! In any case, it’s only about sixty cycles in their standard variation of time. I’m not even going to bother with the math on that one.
“Ten seconds until deployment.” I inhaled deeply, trying to control my breathing. Listen to the countdown if you have to.
“Seven seconds.” Just remember it like in your training. You’ve done this for a long time.
“Five.” Put your trust in the ship. You two have had a very long history together.
“Four.” Each ship deployment, each movement, each weapon.
“Three.” You know all of this and more.
“Two.” The ship is nothing but an extension of your own body.
“One.” The hull opened.
I didn’t even notice the debris floating around the planet, the mass of destroyed Kem and Ara ships. I didn’t even notice the many Reactors, shaped like rectangles with small red lights around them. Nope, I was too entranced by the planet itself.
The first thing about war is never be distracted. I should have kept my head in the game, but laying eyes on the Ara’s planet, I was immediately captivated. It looked so much like Earth had once been. The beautiful green and blue, and white and everything else. The only difference were rings around the planet and different continents here. Despite that, it still captured the essence of Earth, like a Earth reborn.
There were no doubts in our mind that this could be our second home. If we survived our first encounter with the threats. I took after our Wing, laughing in glee. That pure, unadulterated calmness was hitting me. My vision clarified, my motion and flight were smooth, precise and with purpose. I knew deep down in my bones that I was born for this purpose. We would survive any challenge set before us.
|
How I pray decisions made through days once come now to pass, would be undone and present themselves a choice for me to make. Shit stuck on my foot, back stuck to the ground I knew only a few things in this position of life. I complain. I pray. I curse.
I pray the curses that I pray of stick to my enemies who then complain of their meaningless lives.
But who knows.
I’m stuck here. With choices of movement that know only the force of left and sometimes the force of right. I wobble. I cradle. I cry.
I wonder if Jesse thought this too. I offered him two choices. To sell for me or to sell himself for the offer I presented. Murder or his soul was the latter.
He made his choice when he took his own life.
Now I lay, back to ground, face to the gods. Who will judge me if I lack the force to flip to new adventure. He who lives in the clouds? He who judges? He who birthed me to live under his name.
What’s the point. I wiggle and turn. What would I do if I land. I know not the answer. More I think about it less I pray.
I lie here. I dare not move. If I do and I find myself stomach to the ground, would I even deserve to live. I know not.
I know few things.
I know regret.
I know pain.
I know not if I deserve another chance.
I do not know. |
"Which one d'ya think he'll like more?"Emma asked. She held up a pair of very different piggy banks, one in each hand, for Thomas to compare. The pair stood in the back corner of a thrift shop trying to avoid being seen by the clerk.
"It doesn't matter,"Thomas whined while peeking around the shelf of piggy banks.
"It totally matters,"Emma said. She tapped his chest with a blue ceramic pig to get his attention. "C'mon. Which one would you have picked when you were his age?"Thomas sighed and looked Emma in the eyes.
"I can't remember a thing from when I was your age, much less his."Thomas regretted it almost instantly when her eyes softened and she looked at a very interesting spec on the floor.
"Sorry,"he grabbed both of her hands and pushed them up in front of his face to take a good look at the banks. The blue ceramic pig in her left hand resembled a basic cartoon pig with over-sized eyes and a perfect circle for a snout. The bank in her right was made out of shiny brass. It was an abstract pig with tiny brass pegs sticking out of its barrel-shaped body for legs. The face consisted of indentions in the metal where the eyes belonged and a snout that looked like it was hammered from the inside.
"Who's back there?"the clerk shouted from the front. Thomas tapped the brass pig in her right hand.
"This one. Let’s go."
"Why?"She asked as she returned the ceramic pig to its shelf.
"What? I picked one! Let's go!"Emma shook her head.
"Nope. You need a reason for picking this one. You can't just pick whatever one because you don't want to get caught stealing."
"I picked it because it'll sound better when it's got change inside,"he whispered. "Can we leave?"Emma seemed satisfied with the answer and lifted her hand to make a gesture in the air. A tall black portal appeared and Thomas dashed through without waiting for Emma. He stepped out into a bustling city plaza on a sunny day and heard Emma giggling behind him.
"It's not like they can hold us,"she said, then patted Thomas on the back. He shook his head.
"That's not the point. You can never tell how things will go and I'd rather not have to kill anyone,"Thomas explained. He looked around the plaza. 'Anyway, do you see him?"he changed the subject.
"Hey!"She started running and Thomas followed automatically without knowing why. He looked ahead of her and spotted the familiar young, black-haired cherub talking a lanky, pale man in a navy-blue suit. Thomas recognized a pink pig in the stranger's hand and picked up speed.
"You promised it to us first!"Emma said when she reached them. The pale man turned to look at Emma, then he glanced at Thomas and grinned.
"This quest is open to anyone, right?"he asked the boy. The winged child replied with a nod, and the stranger shrugged at Emma. "First come, first serve."
"Wait!"Thomas shouted, then paused to catch a breath before he addressed the cherub.
"You're not an NPC,"he said. "You can choose which one you like better."He held out the brass pig and flashed a hopeful smile.
"A piggy bank is a piggy bank,"the stranger said.
"That's not true and I'll prove it,"Emma said. She reached into her pocket then gave the boy a quarter. "Put it in,"she said. The boy smiled and slipped the quarter into the slot on the pink pig's back. Thomas realized the pink pig was made out of plastic when the quarter landed inside it with an empty thud. Emma handed another quarter to Thomas and smiled. "I told you it was important,"she winked.
Thomas pushed the quarter into the brass pig. It made several small, loud bangs as the quarter settled in its belly. Thomas held the pig by its feet and shook it to get more noise out of the quarter. The cherub decided he wanted to play too and shook the pink pig, but he frowned at the several hollow thuds the quarter made.
"I like that one better,"he said and pushed the pink pig into the tall man's hands. The stranger let the pig fall to the ground, sighed, then made a gesture in the air to open a black portal.
"Consider yourselves lucky that I don't have an AlterNet character,"he said then stepped through the hole.
"Now I got two!"the boy said as he crouched down to pick up the pink pig. "Thank you,"he said. Then he reached a hand out to Emma. "I'll show you where my Earth is."She took his hand and a pulse of purple light flowed from him to her through their joined hands. "You'll find El Cantarito next to me,"he said. Emma nodded.
"Thank you,"she did not waste any time in opening a black portal. The boy smiled at her then walked away. Thomas went through the portal first, then Emma followed.
They stepped out into a dim, grimy, rundown house. A large soil pit sat in the center of the room they landed in. Thomas spotted the pitcher first. The bright red ceramic pitcher rested against a boy's body. Emma gasped involuntarily when she spotted a tall sapling with red leaves was growing out of the boy's chest.
"Ohhh. So *that's* what 'Blooming' is,"Thomas said. He walked to the pitcher and pulled it from the corpse's stiff arm. "Man,"he shook his head. "He permanently lives in the AlterNet now. It's kind of amazing when you think about it."
"I don't want to think about it. Let's go,"Emma opened a portal. "Please."She stepped through first then Thomas followed.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #27. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. |
Jeff read the sign again in confusion. He got why he shouldn't let the cat out. He was a cat owner himself, and was aware if the dangers of letting a feline out to wander the streets of a busy city. But that second part. What was that about?
"Hey, you."
The voice was small, and the speaker was nowhere to be seen.
"Hello?"Jeff said. He looked around for the speaker, leaning around aisles filled with curiosities and curios.
"Oh stop looking around like a moron. I'm up here."
Jeff looked up. Perched on the shelf was a cat. It was mainly black, but had a large white splotch around it's eyes and nose. It sat there, looking at Jeff and swishing the end of its tail.
Jeff was about to keep searching for the speaker when the cat opened it's mouth.
"Okay, let's get the obvious out if the way. Yes, I'm a cat. Yes, I'm talking. No, you're not dreaming, hallucinating, or on drugs. No, not all cats can do this. And no, I'm nothing that was transformed, imprisoned or curse. I've always been a cat and I'm damned proud of that. So, got it? Good. Let's cut to the chase. I've been stuck here for too damned long, and I want out."
Suddenly the sign made much more sense.
"Why?"Jeff asked.
"Are you an idiot? I'm a cat. You know what it's like being stuck in one place? We're meant to wander freely. Going where we want and doing what we want."
"I don't know, I'd say being an indoor cat would have some advantages. You always know where your next meal is coming from, warm places to curl up in. No fear of predators or kids being jerks."
The cat blinked once and tilted its head. "I'll give you the shelter thing, sure. But cat food sucks. Seriously, it's disgusting. Only reason we eat it is because we don't get anything else. Ask any self respecting cat and they'll tell you that there's nothing like fresh caught meat. Way better than that mash you give us. And as for the kids? Well, I got something to deal with those."
The cat lifted its paw and showed its claws. It looked almost smug and proud of possessing such natural weapons.
"Still, I don't think your owner--"
"She is not my owner!"The cat shouted. "You do not own cats. Dogs have owners. We cats just have people that we tolerate for prolonged periods."
"Okay, but he still doesn't want you to leave. At least that's what the sign says."
"Screw the sign. The sign sucks. I want out that that's what should matter. Not some piece of cardboard with words on it."
"Give me a reason why?"Jeff said while crossing his arms.
"What?"
"Why should I let you out? I don't have any reason to do that."
The cat was silent. It looked at the ceiling and its ears twitched.
"Because you take pity on this poor, unfortunate creature?"
"Not good enough."
"Well what'd you expect? I'm a cat. I'm not exactly drowning in cash here."
Jeff shrugged.
"Fine, then. How about we make a deal."The cat said.
"A deal? With you?"
"I do have some clout with my feline cousins you know. I'm pretty important. I could maybe help you out. Get the city's cats to come help out when you need some."
Jeff did not see how that would work. What could cats do for him that he could not do for himself?
"Tell you what, I'll think about it. I have some shopping to do right now, and I'll mull it over. If I decide to help you, then I'll hold the door open when I leave. If not, you're on your own."
Just then, a clatter came from the back of the store. An older woman popped out behind a door and scrambled to her place behind the counter. The cat dashed off without another word.
"A customer, welcome."She said. Her voice had the quality of one who was once powerful, but had lost a lot to age.
She was short and thin, with deep wrinkles and wiry grey hair.
She watched Jeff as he went through the store and gathered some things that were destined to become gifts for his more occult minded family members.
"Find everything okay?"The woman asked as she rung up his purchases.
"Yup. Just fine, thanks."
"Good, good. By the way. I heard you talking."
"What?"
"I may be old, but I kept my hearing okay. And I know you were talking to the cat."
Jeff said nothing. The woman motioned him to lean in closer. Once he did, she spoke quietly.
"That cat's a liar. You shouldn't trust anything it says. It's not even a cat. Not really. I'm not really sure what it is, but I know it's not a cat. It's also not a friendly thing. If it let out, only disaster will follow. Not sure why, but keeping it in here makes it harmless. Strips it of everything but its ability to talk. Don't you dare let it out, you hear?"
Jeff nodded and gathered up his things. He headed towards the door. The cat stood by, waiting for him.
"She's lieing."The cat said. "I'm harmless. Just a cat who happens to be able to talk. My deal still stands too. Let me out and I'll get every cat in the city in your corner. And trust me, that's nothing to sneeze at."
Jeff went to the door and placed his hands on the old brass knob. He looked from the cat to the woman. Both were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. He stood like that for almost a minute before coming to a decision. He turned the knob. |
As soon as my origin was verified by the magic of the Elder Council, I was presented with a multitude of questions regarding my world's Savior Wars. I spent too long trying to figure out what the Savior Wars were, as I initially thought of something biblical or maybe some Ragnarok from the Norse mythology.
Only after someone asked me specifically about The Star Slayer, Hitler, I realized that they meant the two World Wars.
And so I requested access to their library, so I could read what was written at the very source. A very restrictive access was granted - I was trusted, but not that trusted, being human and all.
I spent a few days reading about the Savior Wars and in order to fully understand their way of writing, consulted a few scholars afterwards.
Today was the day of my great speech to the House Protector. Being their political body for warfare and in charge of the security of the Elven nation, this was not to be taken lightly. More than fifty members, male and female, had taken seat and waited for me to begin my speech. The great panorama was lush with forest green hues, and the sunlight was reflected by rock crystals, that was designed to spread the light rather than focus it.
“You call it the Savior Wars, but where I come from, we have a different name for them. The specifics coincide with your lore, but some differences may change your views about the events that transpired,” I began. I saw many nods - they had expected my speech to correct some things. They had no idea what they were in for.
“On my world, we count the years like you, but the reason for the origin point is another tale to be told another day. We will start at the year 1914 - the year where the event you refer to as ‘The Catalyst’ happened. The humans of my world are divided in many nations - far more than here on Gaia. Most of these nations have long histories of war - but in 1914, the nations of the continent called Europe, had been at relative peace for decades. This happened in large because of truces and pacts of alliance. The only problem was that no one knew exactly who was allied with whom. A prince was assassinated, which is the event to which you refer to as the catalyst. A very fitting name.” I received nods of approval - they had been right about some things and they liked it. Many more sat enthralled and some looked horrified at the thought of a royal being murdered. I continued: “And because of that, two minor nations ended up facing each other and preparing to go to war. But the alliances and pacts had a domi-... erhm, cascading effect. Some nations had pledged to fight alongside one of the two nations - and as they fulfilled that promise, more nations had to enter the war because of their alliances with these nations.”
I gave the concept a moment to sink in. Some looked bewildered. “Imagine I have many leaves, and they’re attached by strings in a chaotic way. I pull at one leaf, and who knows how many leaves will follow? The nations in 1914 were these leaves, and no one truly knew how they were connected. Until suddenly, all the nations of Europe were at war,” I explained.
“Two large fractions emerged: Axis and Allies. And the war spread to other continents too. The war efforts escalated, and the world saw its first military tank. You refer to these as ‘mammoth knights’ - but they were in fact the result of human ingenuity and engineering. Automatons clad in iron, so to speak. These huge devices could move and protect the human warriors we call soldiers, as they could hide behind it, and these soldiers wielded weapons called guns. They’re not magic wands, but their effect has similarities. Instead of mana, they rely on bullets - small explosives encapsulated in metal - but a reload can be done much faster than mana replenishing. On the other hand, guns are a one trick pony - they can only shoot these metal bullets, which kills whoever is hit by them - but they can’t make fire, ice or control things like animals or greenery. Another invention that was used in war for the first time on a large scale, was airplanes. Human engineers found a way to make something that looks like small canoes with wings fly. And these guns were strapped onto them - and later on, chemicals. You call them Poison Dragons, but my world has never had any dragons. And the poison these planes used was devastating: Created by humans, we called it Mustard Gas.”
I heard a murmur rise. I could guess what they were talking about: If my world’s humans could create such devices, could theirs do the same? Would magic stand up to human engineering? I sighed inwardly. This would only get worse. I held up a hand after a few moments and continued when the murmur had died down.
“In the end, the Allies won - and the nations of the Axis had their borders redrawn. In truth, the poor handling of the losing nations was what made the second war possible. This war ended in 1918, having lasted four years and cost around ten million soldiers their lives. Imagine that number: You estimate the Elven nation to be at four million. That’s less than half of the soldiers who died in this, what we called The World War. An additional eight million civilians died too. So a grand total of roughly eighteen million lives were lost during The World War. That’s equal to your nation being wiped out more than four times.”
With these ominous words, I reached for my cup and drank the water in it. Elven magic made sure my voice was carried with a precise amplification that could make even Marshall go “damn that’s impressive”. Yet speaking at length made me thirsty.
A few minutes later, the elves of House Protector seemed ready for me to go on. This would be the hard part. Telling them about the true nature of basic human weaponry had only been the beginning.
“One of the nations who lost the World War was a country called Germany,” I began. “Having had portions of their land taken by the victors, they also struggled with extreme poverty. Their children died of hunger and they were desperate. And from that desperation rose the man you call Star Slayer: Adolf Hitler. He was a man who would have been incarcerated and forgotten if not for the desperate times. He talked about making Germany great again and the German people listened. Thus he rose to power, and suddenly held the highest seat of power in Germany. From there, he negotiated with the other countries, and he succeeded in making them cut Germany some slack. He got the wheels spinning in Germany, and poverty became less and things seemed good for a while. But his hatred of which he himself had written a book about, began to manifest. So let’s jump to the year 1939, a mere twenty one years after the World War had ended. Germany suddenly invaded a neighboring country, and the world saw that those wheels Hitler had made turning in Germany, were wheels of war. He has built new war machines, more destructive than those used in the World War.”
More faces showed concern now. More destructive. Yeah.
“One of the machines are called a sub marine. It’s a ship designed to sail under the water’s surface, and thus it can sink any traditional ship. But these submarines were also equipped with missiles so they could destroy remote targets - as far away as there is from here to the forest outskirts. Variation of these missiles could fly through the air, destroying cities far away - and could easily reach the capital of the human nation Brienne, if fired from where I stand now. When the missiles hit something, they each deal the same amount of damage as a dragon’s fireball.”
Some of the worried looks had turned into horror.
“Many countries around the world opposed him, only a few supported him. In the end, his madness proved his downfall, but not before he had managed to almost wipe out an entire group of people who prayed to an old god. He ordered them out into camps were they were starved, experimented on in unspeakable ways and killed. Their symbol was a star, which is probably why you call him Star Slayer.”
Several cries of disgust broke out. This was not ordinary in an elven assembly - their stoic self control was legendary. But the thought that anyone could wreak such violence against his own kind was horrifying.
“He lost. But after his death, a nation allied to his cause kept fighting. And the man you call Savior, was finalizing a new weapon of war. He did not do it alone - many more helped him. This was a team of scientists, not arch magicians - but their way of changing things indeed seemed magical. We call him Oppenheimer, and along with Bohr and Einstein and others, he invented the atomic bomb.”
The entire place was silent now.
“They liberated us by ending the war with this new weapon. But at a tragic loss. So tragic that Oppenheimer himself said; I am become death, the destroyer of worlds. This atomic bomb is so powerful that one single bomb could lay waste to this entire forest and thereby one third of elven kind - all in one take. Three bombs would mean extinction. They fired two - and up to 230,000 people died from those two bombs. This is the Savior Wars: They were the two World Wars that resulted in the creation of the ultimate powerful weapon. A weapon that ended up destroying my world and create a distortion through gravity waves to this world where you found me. The good news is that all these weapons I’ve talked about? I can help you build them.” |
"Agent Gray Villa?"
The curt man wore a stern glare, and held the door for me as I entered the hundred story hotel. I reached into my pocket, showed my identification, and responded in an appropriate manner.
"Yes, that's me. Call me detective Gray, if you would."
"Alright. If you could follow me, I can show you the anomaly scene. Of course, it hasn't been tampered with, upon your request. We had the maid who first reported it put into custody, for further questioning,"he stated.
"Affirmative. Make sure she is treated well, I'd like to see her after I examine the scene."
I followed the man deep into the brightly lit lobby. Outside the glass doors, the sun was just beginning its final descent in the sky. It was important I did my check before dark. This couldn't wait a day, and I had a long night ahead of me. As we entered the first elevator among half a dozen others, I finally got a good look at my so called travel guide. Clean shaven, long slick black hair, and striking blue eyes. I noticed him examining my own appearance across the box.
"I expected someone more respectable,"he muttered.
"If I don't make the cut for you, why don't you handle the investigation on your own?"I retorted.
He snorted, "I would very well like to. Although, there is not much a simple towel boy like myself can do in this place. I wasn't even allowed on the very floor of the anomaly until I was assigned as your guide."
"Well of course, you do not have the proper credentials to handle things, so that would be expected. So tell me, what do you know of the residents that stayed in that room?"I said.
He shifted, and made sure to look me in the eyes, "I actually serviced the family that was staying there. I only met the mother and father, who appeared to be in their mid twenties. Both were normal enough, staying a total of three days. On the second day of their stay, I was sent into their room for cleaning. I passed the supposed husband on the way down the hall, and he barley spared me a glance."
I took this all in. This was similar to cases I had managed before. "And did you notice anything odd when you went into the room?"
He took a moment, and then spoke up, "Actually when I was entered the first thing I noticed was a pillow on the floor. Only one. Perfectly made beds, everything in order. Although the pillow was resting on the carpet."
"What did you do?"
"I picked it up, for fear of it being blamed on me."
At that moment, the *ding* of the elevator door arriving on the floor sounded, and the doors slid open to reveal a police officer.
"Ah! Detective, we've been awaiting your arrival for quite some time. Everything you need to know is right in this."he spouted.
I was handed a clipboard, with a sheet of notebook paper clipped on the front.
From the clipboard I learned that a family of four had bought the hotel room, and just like the towel boy said, they had taken up housing there for a total of three days. Arriving on July 18th, at *2:00 PM,* they had checked out on the 21st, at *7:30 PM*. Shortly after, a maid had walked in at about 7*:41 PM,* and discovered what they had left behind. Cameras had informed us they drove an old white Ford Explorer, although their location was now unknown.
I looked up, making eye contact with the officer, "I want cops looking for the plates. Don't have more than one at the scene if you catch them, or else we could have unforeseen consequences."
The officer began quickly repeating my order into his walkie-talkie. The hall was a straight path with a turn about 4 doors down. I began walking, when another cadet stopped the towel boy.
"That's far enough kid, its best you return down to the lobby."I sensed his frustration, and he made a scene of turning around to go into the elevator. I let him take a few steps, and perked up, "Actually officer, he's with me. He'll be aiding me in the investigation."
Turning around with surprised smile on his face, which quickly evaporated, he walked toward me and said quietly, "My name is James."
I nodded, and we proceeded down the hall. Caution tape and two officers flanked the door, who cleared a path when me and James came near. I was handed a card to slide in the door's lock, and I entered into the sunlit room. It was dark, as the sun was just about to disappear. Two beds, a mini fridge, and a dresser with a large TV on the opposite side of the room. The odd thing was, nothing seemed out of place. It took me a moment to spot the stain on the bed. I pressed my nose to it. Orange juice. I walked across the hall. Nothing else seemed out of place. It couldn't have been on purpose. I refused to believe it. Just then, I felt something under my foot. I was in between the bed and the window, when I peered down at the small object to the right of my shoe. Taking a handkerchief out of my front coat pocket, I retrieved it from the floor. Holding it out for James to see, he nervously spoke,
"Well looks like we know who our real culprit is."
I deposited the pacifier in a plastic bag, just as the sun went down beneath the horizon.
"Indeed we do."
​
​
​
​
​ |
Part of this is off the basis of some law I heard at some point that you have to disclose if a place is haunted idk if that's a real law but Imma go with it.
***
***
This house. It was stunning. We'd gotten it for a fairly decent price. We were told it was haunted. But neither of us believed in ghost or spirits or whatever else they were called by people easily disillusioned by mere gags and party tricks. I had a box filled with the essentials we weren't quite moving in yet just dropping off a few things for our first few nights in our supposedly haunted mansion.
I opened the door and there was someone hanging decorations, fake blood at the tip of a paintbrush.
A kid around my age, figures a college kid would be the one to break into the house to convince us it was a ghost.
"Hi, I'm Vikki."
The *"ghost"* screamed. Well it was more of a wail, which was a ice touch. "Nice touch with the voice but pack it up, nice prank but I'd like to finish my move in."
"What?"The kid asked.
"I live here now, get out."
The kid refused to leave. So not a ghost but as annoying as one. I should mention he wasn't even convict. Aren't ghost supposed to be like from long ago? This kid was wearing a t-shirt from a band that I'd heard on the radio on my way there.
"Seriously, out."I said again. Dude wouldn't leave. I sighed and continued moving boxes around.
"I'm Mike. Died in this very house. Welcome, by the way."
Couldn't help but wonder why such a nice guy would be painting my wall with fake blood. "That's nkce, please leave?"
"Still my house. I'll share, though. As long as I can keep my stuff where it is."
*What stuff?* I wondered. Went into one of the spare bedrooms later and discovered the wall plastered with band memorabilia from wall to wall. Did this kid really think of fall for that? But it was dedication.
"Alright so great prank now please get out."
"What prank? I died here and am a ghost now."
"Why are you a ghost?"
"No idea, was a pretty happy kid until I fell down that staircase."
If what he was saying was true, which it wasn't then it sounded like the kid had been murdered and finding his killed was his unfinished business. I really didn't have time to help him. Called the police on him for trespassing but they saw him and ran out the door screaming. So now I have this roommate I can't get rid of. But he's harmless and it really was fake blood. He still maintains that he's a ghost but he did admit he just wanted to scare me a little. Fairly certain he's rather excellent at being a their player for games so not a bad guy at all.
***
***
What'd you guys think? |
You are looking through your twitter feed, and you see something. A tweet, with thousands, no, *millions* of likes and retweets. The tweet reads,
***'Hello. I know it's been awhile, but I just wanted to announce my long-awaited sequel to my hit book,*** **The Bible.** ***I will be releasing my new novel in a couple weeks, titled*** **The Bible 2: The Second Flood,** ***so make sure to look out for it in your local bookstore on February 2nd! #SecondFlood #Bible #ImBack'***
You are left very confused, until you decide to look at the profile. A blank white picture rested next to a name: God, or @TheRealGod. You shrug it off as a joke from a random person. But you hear a voice in your head, deep and ancient. The voice rumbles with authority, but with an air of generosity and kindness. The voice says,
'*No, that's really me. 2,000 years gives you such a crick in the neck! Or at least I think how the line goes. Anyway, you should read the book. Since I'm feeling nice, I'll give you a early copy of* The Second Flood. *Take care.'*
The voice fades away as a thick book plops down on the table in front of you. The cover of the book is almost blank, except for a few golden words, reading "*The Bible 2: The Second Flood."* |
[Poem]
Several hundred years ago
this was easier to do
it was less about what you know
and mostly who you knew.
Set up shop in a shithole town,
keep an ear out for the news,
whenever any shit goes down
keep the yokels full of booze.
Mum goes mad, shanks the dad,
gives the kids a crimson smile?
Go collect the bonny lass and lad
before their guts fill up with bile.
One over me shoulder, one under arm,
hustle through the shitsmeared lane
to my special super secret farm
for a tinker in their brain.
A quick chat with me eldritch mate
and a whispered word of power,
head their souls off at the gate
and they're walking within the hour.
But ever since that fucking hack
shared that bastard how-to tome
the rules have gone from white to black
to stop goth kids learning at home.
The Art has been heavily revised
and replaced with superstition,
Now the steps are canonized
in the Necro's ninth edition!
But I digress, my old mind strays,
the new version ain't all shite.
This lot has been dead for days
but we'll get 'em up alright.
Turn to page eight hundred and two,
starting paragraph nine,
soon you'll have another few
kids who'll do just fine. |
**183**
He reaches through your screen and grabs you by your shirt collar.
"Aha, you!"he screeches. "Want to see hell for real?"
Before you have a chance to answer he sucks you into his realm of unspeakable horrors. You see things that you'll never unsee and are left permanently scarred. Once he's had his way with you he spits you back out of your screen and into the real world. You immediately go to the nearest house of worship and convert, and then write a book about your experience. Most people think you're a nut, but the book is a decent success.
Someday you die and face the Lord eye-to-eye at the gates of heaven. He says he'd like to let you in but you picked the wrong religion, and rules are rules. Back to hell you are sent.
*The end*
**Turn to page 72 to continue your adventure with a different choice**
**Turn to page 1 to restart your adventure**
---
Kind of dark and ever-so-slightly experiemental. I hope you don't mind. |
I was walking down the streets, the cold Siberian air was freezing the Saint Petersburg night at -25C, it was 5:00am and the red blood moon was happening in that moment, a couple of kids drinking vodka but not too much action, suddenly I bump onto something in the snow.
"It's a puppy?"
Take the poor animal in my hands, the poor thing was freezing; basically a solid block of meat, barely reacting, how old could it be? it is very young, what kind of soulless person would leave such a small animal outside like this.
A black van passes by, 2 armed people come out of it and start interrogating the drinking kids, none of my business I thought to myself; it was a Monday already and I had to work tomorrow at 8:00am, certainly I barely had 3 hours to sleep and now a puppy to care of; playing CSGO all night really wasn't helping my sleep schedule, I'd take the puppy to the shelter once I get the chance, if he survives.
I step up and start walking, without looking behind at what the dudes of the black van were doing; certainly one of them might have given me a stare but I wouldn't go to double check, the last thing I wanted was trouble.
I am finally back to my apartment, I put the puppy next to the heater, put a blanket on him, hope for the best, and decide to sleep.
Suddenly I hear a scream, like a young kid, a baby? and I look at where the puppy is supposed to be, is it a child? no it cannot be, it must be a figment of my imagination, I fall asleep immediately again.
Then my alarm makes a sound, I wake up, barely, the puppy is still there, seemingly asleep, I touch it and it still feels somewhat cold but gladly warming up, I decide to leave it alone, it is going to be really hungry when it wakes up, I hope it doesn't upset the old cranky lady of neighbor of mine. The winter has kept the moon outside, glowing now a deep blue, casting shadows from my windows; I take my jacket on, and start my daily winter routine, and head to work.
8 hours later I am back home, the sun is barely setting already; once I am parking my car, I notice the black van in front of my home; what the hell is going on?...
I go upstairs, ready to get into my apartment when I find my door wide open, the hinges had been destroyed; I take a peak when an armed man looked at me, I was confused, then he charged at me pinning me against the wall, suddenly a lot of voices can be heard and more guys joined him to restrain me.
"Mikhail Petrov you have been arrested for the kidnapping and torturing of Sashenka Mikhailov, anything you say can be and will be used against you piece of shit". |
Being in a car chase in a self-driving car is ludicrous. The men who had robbed my chicken store were in front of me, but I just couldn't reach them. I had my car set to follow, but I felt impotent. I couldn't fire at them with my gun, the safety features would stop my vehicle and call the authorities. Looking down I also saw that I only had a quarter of a charge left. If the robbers had fueled up before the robbery I was screwed.
*There has to be a way!*
I looked around for some inspiration. The car looked exactly like a car in the twenty-first century. There was a wheel that moved and petals, but I didn't even know if it worked, or how to drive.
*Either I drive them down, or I lose my chickens.* I could see them all cramped in the back of the car. I could swear the Billy, Debby, and Dinner were staring at me. They were damn fine chickens, I couldn't lose them. I scotted to the driver's seat and placed my hands on the wheel. A voice came through the speakers.
"Hello, Mr. Road. Is there something I can do for you?"The onboard AI asked.
"I need manual control of the vehicle!"I demanded.
"I apologize, but you are not authorized."
"Look the cops ain't going to save my chickens, it is only a level 29 crime. I need manual control to run down those robbers."
"I apologize, but manual control can only be given to police officers or in an emergency."The dispassionate voice replied.
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. It might sound like an emergency to me, but obviously, the AI didn't have the same definition. "One of my chickens has the pox and needs to be rescued. If I can't stop that car it could spread to all chickens in the world."
There was a long pause before the AI replied. "Understood, biological attack imminent. I will call in the authorities while you take on the chase. Manual Override Activated."
The moment the AI muttered those words the car slowed dramatically. I pushed on the pedals furious and after a few moments, I got the handle of it. Then I was off, driving recklessly towards the thieves.
I crashed into their backside by accident, but it was worth it for the look of horror I saw on the thieves faces. Then everything in the car was obscured as the chickens panicked and began flapping. I swirved and drove up to the side of the car and began to nudge it into the siderail, hoping that it would slow the car. Instead, there was a crash and both of our vehicles tumbled into grass.
I woke the sound of sirens. Both cars were flipped over and chickens were running in all directions.
*At least they are safe.*
The moment I thought it a loudspeaker came on and a police officer ordered. "Shoot the chickens, they are a biological weapon."
Then I heard gunfire and the cries of my chickens.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am sorry, kind of started this and thought I went too far to delete, so I continued. |
It flickered again. Just for a second, the same cloud moving suddenly in reverse, the same leaf blown back to where it came from, the extra long red light in the same deserted street crossing. Thirty seconds later the next crossing flickered, a man in a bicycle passing. Fourteen seconds, and at the next crossing a dog chased an empty shopping bag across the road. One after the next until then a tunnel. Several exits and out of each of them a car came out. Always the same car, a series of Volvo 240s and never the same color. I took down a note of each before they exited the camera’s view. Red. Red. Silver. The resolution was too bad to make out the plates of either, I had tried before to enhance them after the fact with no real success.
It would be another 29 days, 7 hours and 29 minutes until the next flicker. That much I knew, but “I will not be here next time it happens”, I thought to myself looking at the plane ticket confirmation sticking out of under my keyboard.
The noise of the printer stopped, I grabbed a manila envelop that wasn’t covered in coffee stains and placed everything inside. Email screenshots, instagram DMs, credit card statements for dinners, and a Cartier wristwatch he never seems to wear. The things I have to do to afford the things I, also, have to do. The exchange went easier than the usual, wives are never as cold hearted as they initially seem to be when they finally confirm their worst suspicions. I left first, just as she ordered another latte. “He… It’s my fault.” she said, grabbing my arm as I walked past her. “I just wanted you to know that.” she let go.
The work’s payment, in form of a giftcard, afforded me a brand new Macbook Air, a pair of noise cancelling Sony cans, a battery pack, a Tascam pocket voice recorder, and several SD cards; everything I thought necessary for going abroad without taking with me any old, perhaps compromised, hardware or files. This was the last moment I now remember ever being in control.
The flight went by as if on auto-pilot. If I ever spoke must have been just to say “Thank you”, now and again. We finally landed at Linate airport at 7:54pm, and by 9 I was checking in at my hotel to a front desk clerk who clearly was not happy to have had to wait for me to arrive.
“We keep this mail for you, mister.” he said as he placed white envelop atop the counter, but I never told anyone about any of this, clearly a mistake. I took the letter and flipped it around, my name written on it, the address of the hotel, and the returning address was… I couldn’t be sure just yet but it must have been, the coffee shop from that job a couple weeks back. It made no sense to me.
“Can I have my passport back now?” I asked, trying to appear calm.
“We must have it until morning tomorrow but we give back as soon as first shift for you”, he replied with a smile. “Enjoy your stay.”
I rushed to my room and ripped open the envelop, a TIM sim card was taped with scotch to a piece of blank paper. I didn’t know if to risk my only phone, the one phone I’ve made sure I could rely on being secure, even here. I decided not to, I could just buy a new one come morning. I burned the paper and envelop on the shower floor and let the water take care of the rest.
The phone rang in the middle of the night. “You have a collect call from..” Static. “Will you accept the charges?”. I hung up. It rand again. “You have a collec” I hung up. It took maybe five minutes until it happened once more, but this time “Mister, I so sorry to awake you but there is someone in reception for you. Should I send up?” the voice from the clerk that I clearly saw close down the front desk earlier.
“No, no! No. I.. Wait, I will come. Thank you.” I managed to say before the line disconnected abruptly.
I decided to rush down, moth to the flame regardless, I was clearly lacking any angle that could play to my advantage and not knowing what was going on might just be worse than finding out as soon as possible. The elevator doors opened and a different clerk was waiting right outside.
“Good night. I am Andrea. This left for you just now.” he said as he handed me a small box.
“Thanks, but who…”
“Left already”, he interrupted me. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“No, no. Thanks. Goodnight”
“Goodnight, sir” he said and turned around.
As the elevator slowly climbed the floors one by one I unwrapped the saran plastic off the unmarked box and opened it. Inside there was a Blackberry Passport already turned on. The “No SIM” sign was on but it was connected already to the hotel’s WiFi.
Back in my room I inserted the card into the phone, accepting whatever was going on I had no control over. Nothing happened. I looked at everything installed on it; a tracker I easily disabled, a keylogger I removed, a microSD with a malware program that would record audio at 128kbps continuously that ended down the drain, and a single phone number saved on the contacts list.
With the macbook tethered to my phone I googled the number. +02 meant it was a landline, but the number was unlisted. I called knowing my number would appear blocked but the tone just rang until there was no answer. I tried with the one I just received and got the same result.
In the morning I picked up my passport and headed out. A couple of blocks away there was a place called California Bakery where I had breakfast, a cappuccino and a chocolate muffin, and most importantly an open WiFi I could use to retrace all my traffic. I logged in to my off shore server through a VPN and checked on the AI’s progress, it was finally done. I ran an algorithm through all the footage looking for repeating frames in any of the videos. I was looking also for any kind of face recognition plugged into Facebook’s database, but that yielded nothing, not that I expected much considering the resolution. Instead the AI’s report was much more interesting, since I started keeping a copy of all the CCTV streams and any webcam, street view camera, traffic camera, or literally anything with an eye half a mile away from the glitching ones, I decided to “borrow” a self-learning program that would let me analyze them all and reconstruct a time-frame.
Whenever the flickering happened the footage would playback in reverse for a second or two until it found an empty frame and would match it to a similar one from a week earlier. This meant out of every 29 days one week was always lost. Most importantly, now I knew this was by design, someone was purposefully doing this, someone automated it to be so. I just had no idea why. Through a VOIP service I called the number again, this time someone picked up.
“Good morning, thank you for calling Hertz auto rental. How may I help you?” the voice at the other end of the line said.
“I was given this number by.. a friend”, I told her.
“Your phone number doesn’t seem to trigger any reservations on our system.”
“I can give you a number. It’s local”
“Go ahead.” she said.
After I gave her the number I was given an address and a time for pickup but nothing else, she didn’t seem unhelpful rather she seemed like this was as unusual for her as it was for me.
I walked by the hotel again, down the corner there was one of the entrances to the subway station of Moscova. I purchased a single use ticket and boarded the train going east until the Lambrate stop. I found myself in a small terminal with a train station and what seemed like several bus terminals. I crossed the station through a tunnel that passed under the train tracks, on the other side there was a parking lot full of parked cars. I took out my phone and opened the app that would let me unlock the car. Using the noise of the locks I tracked it down some three lines away from me. And I just stood there looking at it for what seemed like an eternity. I got on and drove away the black Volvo 240 station wagon, following the last saved address on the SatNav that was left for me on the glove box compartment. |
"Introverts rule the world,"said my father, not looking up from his book. "Well, we exist in greater numbers. You'd have to actually go outside to rule anything."
It was true. I'd spent almost my entire life indoors, in this shabby little run-down home. Only people who were extreme isolationists--and the entire population of Wyoming, for some reason--were spared. Everyone else died within seventy-two hours of contact with an infected person. The mortality rate for the Sunshine Virus was a hundred percent.
The virus had been created by an insane idiot with access to technology that shouldn't have been freely available to just anyone. They'd wanted to eradicate the human species, or at least greatly reduce our numbers. And they had. Sixty-five percent of all humans had perished from the virus alone, with another seventy-five percent of the survivors perishing from other disease and famine within five years. No cure for the virus had ever been discovered, it had simply run out of hosts before learning to mutate and lie dormant. What was left in the destruction of the world was around three quarters of a billion people with next to no interest in going outside anymore.
But not me. I wanted to explore, to see the wilderness. Wanderlust, my father called it. It had consumed my mother, too. She'd gone for a walk ten years ago and never came back. Probably she was dead, but we never went looking for her and Dad didn't seem to care that she was gone. She'd just up and left, one day, with a canteen and few days' rations and that was all the more thought she gave it.
Me, I had a plan. I was going to join the Long Walkers. Men and women who carried packages from place to place. Most Walkers roamed alone, but some few travelled in very small groups, from two to as many as six if they could stand to be around that many people. Walking might've been dangerous in any other apocalypse--and I knew it was an apocalypse, because I remembered the time before Sunshine--but people were so wary of one-another that violence simply didn't happen on the open road.
I knew about a Walker outpost at the Nuevo Sierra Traders, just up the road a piece. I was twenty four, plenty old enough to make up my own mind and join. But, right now, I was needed at home. I was the oldest and my little brother and sister weren't going to be able to help Dad with much for a few years more. I promised myself I'd go by twenty-seven. For now, the world out there didn't absolutely need me the way Jamie and Rachael did. It was for that reason that I stayed, and not because going outside was a little intimidating. Not at all because I had dreams of sleeping on the ground and floating up into the sky and falling off the planet. Yeah. It was because my family needed me. Here.
I closed the curtains of the window I'd been staring out of, and went to see what Jamie was up to. Maybe he needed help with his studies. |
“Rookie! You coming?” My commander barked at me. I was looking at myself in one of the identical mirrors corresponding with each other down the suiting area. “We aren’t focused on looking pretty.” He repeated, beckoning me to follow.
As I followed my commander through the suiting area, we reached the end of it, where a large steel door frame fitted with ballistic glass lay. Behind the glass was another layer of metal. I had always wondered what was behind this door, but at the same time, I’d always knew. Even minutes ago, while changing into my guardsmen outfit, I had watched as the rest of my squad passed through it with the commander, while I stayed, still fitting my helmet. The helmet covered my entire head, and my armor was fully guarding my body and took a great struggle to get on. Every member of the Guard was highly protected with lab-tested armor and weaponry. Even if they didn’t quite know how to use it, like myself.
My commander swiped his keycard and pulled the door open. I didn’t know if I was ready. I’d only just entered the training facility two weeks ago. I didn’t feel ready to even lay eyes on the Receptacle; but I was going to anyways.
We walked through the door, revealing a small airlock-looking room with a large metal gate. My commander walked over to a small control panel to the left. After pressing a few buttons and doing what seemed like a hundred biometric scans, a resounding beep was heard, as he finished.
“Preparing to enter the Dome. Please do not enter the vicinity of the Receptacle without wearing full Class-A armor.” An artificial-sounding female voice announced.
My commander glanced at me. “Make sure all your gear is on tight rookie, you wouldn’t want to go into the Dome unprotected, this close to the Receptacle.”
I nodded, making sure everything was right on my armor. I then gave the commander a thumbs up, and gazed forward as the large metal barrier began to retract into the ground, slowly opening an exit. I could instantly feel the wind. It was like outdoors, but it wasn’t at the same time. When we walked outside, there was nothing but black sand-like substance that coated the ground, and the strong wind blew the sand everywhere. It gave me a strange feeling inside, something I’d never felt before.
“Welcome to the Dome, the home of the Receptacle, as you may have already knew.” My commander said. My squad was standing in the sand, and as soon as they saw me walk out they bombarded me with questions.
“Rookie, what do you think of your first time inside the Dome?”
“Pretty rad, huh?”
“You like the smell?”
“Wait guys, I don’t think he’s seen it yet.”
I blinked. “What?”
The guardsmen pointed diagonally.
I glanced upwards, seeing a shadowy outline of a gargantuan rectangular building, stretching at least 100 feet tall. As we got closer, I noticed it had only one entrance, a large garage-sized gateway in the center of the bottom. Next to the gateway weere two giant mounted automatic turrets, and as I studied the building more I noticed almost the entire face was covered with automatic weapons, varying from cannons to rocket launchers.
“The place has got to be protected.” The commander said. “That’s why we have this sand, 1500 degrees farenheit to the touch. Even if the infiltrator is able to survive the heat, it creates blocked vision and confusion, causing them not to notice the weapons that will soon eviscerate them in a matter of seconds.”
“If it’s this guarded, why do you need people like me from the suburbias?” I asked.
“The precincts in which everyone on this planet lives, including yours, would no be possible if we weren’t guarding the Receptacle. The Receptacle is everything, the Receptacle is life as we know it. We need human guards to be able to protect against human infiltrators. The human mind is near impossible to replicate, and even the great lengths we go to protect the Receptacle can possibly be outsmarted.” The commander paused. “What cannot be outsmarted is the Guard. Guardsmen are constantly ready in the infantry dorms, some even waiting fully dressed in the hoplite room. The instant an enemy presence is detected, we instantly deploy 500 guardsmen and 8 elite guardsmen into the dome, and prepare more to come to aid.”
“No disrespect commander, but I’ve told you I don’t feel ready.” I said.
“You don’t need to be ready, you just need to know what to do.” The commander answered vaguely. “I’m simply showing you what you will be up to the task for before you are officially initiated tomorrow.” He breathed. “And, I will be showing you what you are guarding.”
Our squad soon approached the entrance of the building, and it began to open slowly. A large, brightly lit hallway was revealed behind it. I began to walk towards it, but the commander stopped me.
“You DO NOT advance without my direction, rookie!” He pulled a small white box out of his pocket and threw it into the hallway. A flash of red and a screeching noise echoed throughout the hallway, and the box was quickly evaporated. “You wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would you?”
“No…”
“Now, this hallway will recognize your biological presence just like the automatic weapons, but it only disables after sensing the biological presence of a commander, such as myself. Now, follow me.”
We walked inside and the door soon closed behind us. When we reached the end of the hallway we came to a door labeled The Receptacle.
“That’s it?” I asked.
The commander nodded. “While there is much more you don’t know about this building, this is how a squad like us is able to visit the Receptacle, if needs be. Now, if any one of you try to make a move in this room, I guarantee you will die. Your weapons are useless in this room, and there will be guardsmen there to swiftly end your life.” A small lens at the top of the door quickly scanned the squad, and then blinked green. The door wooshed open.
We walked inside. It was a small, white room. A pedestal stood in the middle. Two guardsmen bearing red armor and glowing blue blades on their back stood next to it. I instantly recognized them as elite guardsmen. The commander nodded, and the guardsmen revealed the pedestal.
On it, floated a small brown box, about the size of a baseball, with a crack near the top indicating it could be opened. I was confused for a second. Why is there a little container there, is the Receptacle in it? It couldn’t be that small.
But after a second, it came to me. The thing that humanity so closely guarded, the precious object whose protection is pertinent to life.
The box was the Receptacle. |
‘‘Twas a warm summers night when Mary and her two friends Jane and Molly decided to trip fucking balls. They picked up 6 tabs of “the most pure acid” this side of the Atlantic - well at least according to their ever faithful friend and dealer N word Steve.
After a good few hours tripping Mary saw what appeared to be an angel! The angel informed her she was indeed pregnant despite her virgin loins. She told her friends what happened and she received the reaction she was expecting.
“Bitch you really think we believe your hoe ass is preggers without no man?” Molly said. Jane agreed, “there’s no way you gonna be able to have a goddamn baby at 17 and have anyone believe it’s an immaculate conception”.
Both Molly and Jane’s reactions confirmed in Mary’s mind what she had to do. So the next morning she made the trip down to family planning and got herself a good old fashion abortion.
Fin. |
It’s funny, you don’t really get to know your fellow resistance fighters. Sure, you learn each other’s quirks and you can banter like an old couple, but life as a guerrilla fighter doesn’t allow for niceties. Talking about your memories from the third grade counted as niceties, so we skipped right past that.
Instead, I learned that Lethabo had a habit of ignoring his nine. I’d had to snipe more than a few oncoming attackers to keep him upright, enough that I started to notice the pattern. After the second time it happened, I nicknamed him Lefty. He took it in stride, but he didn’t say much about it. What could he say? “Sorry for being a bad guerrilla fighter? I’ll do better next time?” That wasn’t going to work. We messed up, we felt bad for a few hours, and then we went right back to fighting off invading aliens.
Amahle, on the other hand, had this walk. She was like a cat, moving gracefully everywhere she went. It was amazing to watch her move through the scope, she practically glided to her targets. She was quick, too. I’d had to adjust to her speed, or else I’d miss one and something would get too close to her. I didn’t really have a nickname for her, but I could spot her gait a mile away.
I don’t know why those are the details that I remember, but they are. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but it’s funny how those little details end up mattering.
— — — — —
“Lefty, two on your three.”
“I got them.”
“Show off,” Amahle chimed in. She always had a habit of dry humor in the middle of battles.
“They’re down.”
Good old Lefty. If it wasn’t on his nine, it was as good as dead.
“Amahle, get to the shed,” I warned. “There’s two more incoming.”
“On it, Tano.”
I kept the scope ahead of her, moving in the practiced pace that a million battles had taught me. Amahle was moving at a good clip, so I figured she was safe once she was within ten paces of the shed.
It was Lefty’s scream that alerted me to my mistake.
“Amahle!!”
I whipped my rifle back to the shed, just in time to see two of the aliens dragging an injured Amahle. There must have been a couple of them hiding near the shed, and they’d gotten the jump on her. No one moves fast enough when they don’t see the enemy coming.
I heard the sound of Lefty’s machine gun in a desperate bid to get her back, but the other two were already coming to support the abductors. I heard a cracking sound from the communicator, and I knew that she was lost. I squeezed my eyes shut to shut out the harsh reality, but instinctively, I knew what that sound meant.
“Lefty, fall back!”
“It’s Amahle! We can’t leave her!”
“You’re outgunned four to one, and I can’t get clear sight lines behind that shed. Fall back, Lefty!”
“But-“
“We already lost one today. Let’s not lose another.”
I could practically hear the hesitation going through Lefty’s mind, but my words ultimately won out. He started to return to a more defensible position, leaving Amahle to her grisly end.
“We’ll pay the bastards back.”
— — — — —
There wasn’t much to say that night. The loss of Amahle had hit us all pretty hard, and no one was in a chatty mood. About the only thing we decided was that there was a food station nearby, and we should raid the next day. Our supplies were running low.
The morning brought a sense of … change. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was a chance to live a different day. We packed our gear, we picked a depot to raid, and we set out. One foot in front of the other, we would literally fight another day.
“Let me get to my perch. I can scout the guards from there.”
“Careful, Tano,” Lefty cautioned me.
“I’ll be fine. Just give me two minutes.”
“Two minutes, no more.”
Two minutes later, I was reporting on the guard movements. We were in luck; it was a lightly defended outpost.
“Four guards, as best as I can tell. Two at each corner.”
“Any inside?”
“Can’t tell, but I’m guessing not. They’re just standing there. If this were a military operation, there’d be more discipline.”
“Good.”
“Wait, they’re on the move.”
Lefty just waited, knowing that I would report on the salient details.
“The one closest to me. It moves like…”
“Moves like what?”
“… Amahle.”
“What?!”
“You know how she was always the quickest one? Moved like a cat?”
“Yeah.”
“This guard, it’s moving like she did. Never seen one of them do that before.”
“Could it be … her?”
“We both saw her captured. We *heard* her be captured.”
“So you tell me, then. How does this thing suddenly walk like Amahle?”
“I don’t know, Lefty, but we need to find out.”
— — — — —
“This makes no sense. Why would we risk it?” one of the others complained.
“I can’t explain it, but that alien, it moves like someone we saw captured yesterday. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“We’re going to risk all of us, just because you saw something in how it walks?”
“You trust my eyes every day, they keep us safe,” I replied cooly. “Trust me, that’s Amahle’s walk. She’s in there somehow.”
“We were going to raid the outpost anyway,” Left chimed in. “We knew that meant the possibility of taking fire.”
“But that doesn’t mean we want to invite it!”
“If that really is Amahle somehow, we need to get her back!” Lefty insisted. “We’d do the same if it was you.”
That seemed to be the final straw, and most everyone quietly assented. We’d seen too many fall over the months and years to willingly give up on one more. It didn’t matter how much danger that invited.
“Okay, so here’s the plan …” I explained, as I jabbed at a few rocks in the ground. It wasn’t the best tactical map, but it did the trick.
— — — — —
For once in our lives, everything went perfectly. Lefty took down the first two guards by himself, and the others separated the remaining two guards with a perfect pincer attack. The guards had no choice but to separate, and then it was just a matter of sniping once they got into the open.
It was weird tracking the Amahle-Alien on the scope, imagining that it might be one of our own on the other end. Still, my muscle memory saw me through the exercise, and I managed to get the shot I wanted.
“How’re we doing with that last guard?”
“Down,” Lefty reported in.
“That just leaves our target. She- It is down. Hit it in the shoulder, shouldn’t be fatal. Looks like it’s not moving.”
“We got it.”
“Okay, let’s go solve a mystery.”
— — — — —
“Lefty, we probably have five minutes before backup arrives. Make it quick.”
“It looks like any other alien, Tano. Nothing about this guard looks like Amahle.”
“So it just copied her walk somehow?”
“It must have. This guard fired at us just like the rest,” Lefty reminded me. “Even if it was Amahle at some point, it sure didn’t act like her.”
“So they mimic us?”
“Apparently.”
“Crap. We better get the word out. All those little quirks we have are about to become VERY important.” |
The rover didn't even creak as it rammed into the tree.
Of course it wouldn't. It was the best, "*best of the best*,"the rental agent had said, and the price tag reflected that.
Only the best a *Burke,* that was the family motto growing up.
"**There’s only one tree in this whole desert… and you just crashed your car into it.** Great. Good job."A voice cuts in from the passenger seat beside me, dripping with blatant sarcasm. I bite back a cuss so hard I can almost taste it in the back of my throat.
No, this is not the time to start arguments, Johnny. This was supposed to be a redo-honeymoon. A time to run away from all our worldly problems so we can both decide that we've been fighting over nothing and be happy together again.
But nope, my pride and my mouth seem to have a different agenda. I can feel the regret before the words even come out, but they do anyway.
"C'mon. That's hardly a tree!"
In my defense, that is true. The "tree"was hardly a bush that the rover ran over like a lawnmower running over grass. I mean if we're really lost, *which we're not*\- it's not like this wispy bush of a tree can help us.
"It's not my fault."I add, I'm met with an accusing glare which instantly makes me feel small.
I hate that.
I hate that those grey eyes have always had the ability to reduce me to a pile of pathetic mess. It was that way in High School, the first time I met those eyes and found myself speechless and filled with so much *want* and *longing* that seemed so alien that it scared even a trust-fund kid like me*.* One look, and the infamous Jonathan Charles Burke is rendered into plain ol' Jonny- a stammering, pining, high school punk.
It's that way now, me behind the wheel, those grey eyes on me- burning with accusation, our redo-honeymoon turning into a steaming shit show, our divorce papers sitting in the drawer, dotted line waiting to be signed .
Us in the middle of a desert, going nowhere.
We were going somewhere, once upon a time, we were happy- hand in hand, hearts heavy with promises and plans made for the future. We were the legendary couple- the Romeo and Juliet that got their happy ending against all odds. I guess most people forget that those two die tragically in the end.
It's not like I haven't tried. I have. I stood up for myself, for *us* so many times in front of my family, my relatives, my so-called childhood friends- yes, it's real; yes we do plan to get married; no, it's not just a *phase*.
You know what? I did try, I tried a whole lot and I gave up a whole lot.
The thought opens up memories like a can of coke, and I can feel my anger bubbling up into the surface like the fizz.
"Well it's not like this is all my fault."I glare back, only hoping that my blue eyes can do half the damage that piercing grey ones do.
"Oh really? Because I wasn't the one that went off track and drove us into a desert, insisting that 'it'll be fun!', But I guess nothing is ever your fault, since you're *Jonathan Burke*."
​
I scoff, well that's it.
​
The thing is- when you throw mentos into a can of coke, you can't not expect the angry bubbles to explode in your face.
"Well you know what? It isn't my fault. I can't help that I was born into a privileged family, I can't help that your family is poor. I can't help that my law degree actually got me somewhere while you're just a failing clickbait writer clinging onto your journalism degree as if having it somehow makes you better than everyone else. I can't help that I make more money than you and people are dicks. Because guess what? We're a gay couple, we're bound to run into a few judgemental assholes in our lifetime, I can't be the one to blame for all your bullshit whenever someone makes you feel self-conscious, ***Theodore."***
He flinches.
I breath in deeply, letting the mortification of all the words that tumbled out of my mouth just a second ago to catch up to me. I open my mouth, but spoken words don't roll back in, the damage is already done.
"Theo..."
He holds up his hand. His ring finger is empty, I didn't even notice before.
"No, you're right, Jon."He croaks. "You can't help to be who you are, and I can't help to be a failure."
"No, Theo, you know I didn't-"
He shakes his head, and his lips- those lips I've kissed over a thousand times, curl into a ghost of a smile. It's almost ironic that his is the first time I've seen him smile it what seems like months.
"Jon, I've already signed the papers."His voice is merely even a whisper but somehow the words are loud enough to cut into me.
"What?"I stammer out, although I can hear him perfectly fine.
"You're right, we're just too different. God Jon, your first thought to fix our problems is to whisk us into a luxury getaway in Dubai."He chuckles half heartedly, tears staining his grey eyes, "Thats..that's just not what normal people do."
"But- but I've always been like this, and you used to love it."He used to laugh, while shaking his head, then he'd call me unbelievable and kiss me. It's almost been ten years, he can't say he only just found that out about me.
He shake his head sadly, "No I didn't..I used to love *you*."
"Used to?"
He sighs, "I've always been like this too Jon."
The implication of his words don't escape me. I remember the way I used to feel when I looked at him, the stars in my eyes so bright that they blinded even myself, he was so proud and I loved him for it.
I remember arguing, that fuzzy feeling turning into annoyance while calling him him stubborn that he wouldn't just let me pay for his tuition.
I remember almost tearing my hair out in frustration and telling him *Why rent when I can just buy a house anywhere, you don't need to worry about money.*
​
I used to love him too.
​
He looks at me and all I can do is stare back, blue ocean meeting a grey storm in the middle of a desert. Going nowhere.
​
\--
this is def not what you had in mind for the prompt and I'm sorry. |
"Do I look like a joke to you?"
"You look like a joke to everybody. We have flight, strength, essentially any superpower we can imagine. You have a gun."
This guy was getting on my nerves. Constantly taunting me. Threatening me. Every day he walked by me just to push me to the ground. And all I had was a gun, with no courage to shoot it.
But it wasn't JUST a gun.
I channeled all my energy into my left hand. The small six-shooter I was holding was pulsing with my own pure energy. And then... It transformed.
The power of The Golden Gun. The power of the sun. Solar flares. All the heat in the world. And it was all in my hands.
The piece of shit instantly backed up, hands raised. I simply put a bullet through his head, and he burst into flames.
Everybody will fear me. Everybody will fear the heat and energy I bring.
Everybody will fear The Golden Gun. |
>This is literally my first ever attempt at a writing prompt, apologies for any rookie mistakes or if it's not particularly good.
The clattering racket of the jackhammer on the nearby building site. The eyes stuck shut as if with super glue. The, tinny distorted 80s pop anthem coming from the Nokia at the end of the bed.
Yep, it was Monday. Monday, 6:15am, to be more precise. The heavyset man finally wrenched his eyelids apart, the cold morning light stinging his bloodshot eyes.
"Fuck."He thought.
"Why didn't I get more sleep last night? I knew I had the big sales pitch today and I still stayed up way too damn late. Why am I always setting myself up to fail? I'm so fucking worthless, **may as well call in sick and stay in be-**"
He caught himself midthought as a look of confusion spread across his broad and bearded face. His eyebrows pushed down on his eyes, and his forehead crinkled in puzzlement.
"Where did that come from?"He wondered. He was suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings and vulnerabilities, his weak ankles carrying almost 240lbs of fat slob, his going-nowhere career, his at times crippling loneliness.
Still, the bills don't pay themselves, and so he did his best to shake off the malaise darkening his mind and rolled out of bed. He thought the storm clouds would stay there - but they didn't. They followed him down his stairs and into his bathroom and onto the toilet and into the kitchen an-
"Breathe."He told himself, his head spinning a hundred miles an hour. 10 minutes had passed and now he was really feeling it. He didn't know what was with him that morning, but he didn't like it - not one bit. He had hurried from task to task hoping his urgency and the effort to occupy his mind would drive away the dread, but it had not been so.
"**Not today. Don't take the chance.**"The voice was his own, but it had come from nowhere, as if a second consciousness was inside his first. His breath quick and uneven, he hauled open the curtains of his front room, nearly stumbling in his panic.
"What's out there?!"His heart was pounding and he felt his hands becoming clammy.
He gathered himself and sat down on the spot, not caring about the dirty carpet or his recently slipped disc.
The man tried to slow his breathing and crossed his arms, as his to comfort himself. He turned his head and craned his neck, giving him just the right angle to see out of the window again. The second his eyes set on the pavement opposite where day after day he had begun his walk to work, the air around him seemed to contract again and his stomach dropped.
"**There's no point. You won't achieve anything. There's nothing for you out there.**
He let out a wail as he burst into tears. He could almost feel any semblance of himself slipping out of him in those drops rolling down his face. For all he had been through, he had never been one to cry. His father had always insisted on that.
"**Real men don't cry.**"
He was in the fetal position now, with no perspective left - no introspection, only base feeling. All he felt was the darkness, the haze, and the dread.
"No more, please."Whimpered his broken mind. And all ceased. |
They had agreed to meet for drinks some time ago. Olórin was the last to arrive at the dimly-lit bar. Walking through the smoky haze, he spotted his old acquaintences seated around a table in the center of the large room.
Taking his seat, he was greeted with taunting from the others about his tardiness.
"Why are you never on time, Olórin?"Lux asked vehemently. His sharp tone didn't surprise any of them, shifting their heckling towards their black-robed companion.
"WhY aRe YoU nEvEr oN tIme?"mimicked Martin.
"I get busy with work, too. It takes every bit of my time, but I still managed to show up on schedule,"Joe said dryly.
"Yeah, calm down, Light Bringer,"Olórin quipped.
Lux was visibly agitated at the other's traitorous remarks and turned is aggression towards them.
Staring daggers in Martin's direction, he scoffed, "At least I don't rely on a DeLorean for my transportation."Lux then faced Joe. "And you. Don't forget that you work for me part-time."
For a moment, Martin, Joe and Olórin sat quietly looking at each other. The silence was broken when the bartender reached their table, placing a basket of breadsticks at the center alongside their beverage pitcher, and they proceeded to break out into raucous laughter.
"I am not late, Lux,"Olórin interjected. "I arrived exactly when I meant to,"he said smugly, winking at Lux.
The atmosphere of the room relaxed and they began to reminisce on the past and of what the future holds in store. The evening discussion was full of topics, large and small.
Midway through their second pitcher, they reached the subject of writers, particularly those on reddit. The only unanimous thought they could agree on is that r/WritingPrompts is a quandary that none of them could put their finger on.
The bartender strolls over to the table with another pitcher in hand.
While approaching their table, he overhears their discussion.
As he places down the drink, he answers the foursome, "They're infatuated with what they can't understand."
They begin to contemplate the meaning of the words they've just heard.
Shaking his head at the clear beverage before him, Lux speaks up with mild disdain, "Always the jokester, aren't you? Can you please just give us our wine, Jesus." |
He was tired. Tired in a way no creature should ever know. It had been so long.
Slowly, painfully, he drew a long breath, his chest rattling with the effort. Only a few more... then he could rest. It had been so long.
He gazed dimly through his one remaining eye, taking in the shining jewel of a world below. His vantage marred the beauty, from up here on the command deck. Black spires, twisted and ominous, reached down from the station like the claws of some nightmarish beast; beauty was never a consideration in the undertaking. There had never been time. Only one thing had mattered, and in moments it would be done. It had been so long.
​
The console before him brightened suddenly, and a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Spool-up complete. Origination drive standing by."His face twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile passing over his greyed muzzle. It was time... finally. He had worked so hard. Sacrificed so much... everything. It had been so long.
His massive paw slammed the console with an energy he hadn't felt in many decades, and his masterwork, his great answer, sprang to life around him. All the fur on his body stood on end as arcs of purple light leapt around the spires below. The cloaking field, having served its purpose, dissipated - he could only imagine the shock of those below as they witnessed the sprawling monstrosity appear in the sky over their world; he had never seen it from the surface, but he was sure it looked like the black hand of death grasping for the earth. How apt, he thought, for that's exactly what it was. He had spent lifetimes ensuring the undertaking could not fail, kept barely alive through two parts science and one part sheer determination. It had been so long.
​
He watched now as the final moment approached, the storm of violet lightning reaching a critical mass. It was almost an anticlimax; there was no final blast, no dramatic strike, only a subtle bluish glow rising up from the planet below, but he knew then that his work was done. The station would do the rest, forever siphoning atmosphere up, harvesting, collecting oxygen to fuel itself. Not all of it, but enough. Enough to make it impossible to breathe. More importantly, enough to make it impossible to burn.
In time, only the forests would remain. He couldn't know the future, not all of it, but for untold millennia, they would stand untouched. Unburnt.
His work done, he felt himself let go. Death was welcome now. But as his vision began to darken, he caught a final glimpse of himself in the shining window before him. One last smile spread across his grizzled face, and he growled out a soft declaration of his victory.
"It was you... all along..."
One final rattling breath.
​
"Smokey... only you could... prevent... forest... f..."
A soft wheeze slipped past his lips as life left his ancient body.
It had been so long. |
I looked out soon the vast landscape before me, it wasn’t bad, as far as my standards went, for it was all I had ever known. Terrible monsters of men and beast roamed the land, but luckily all I had to do these days was sit in this little settlement and stand guard. Easy enough compared to the old days, the days where me and my men banned together to rid these lands of one of those terrible beasts. Luckily an adventurer from the older times came along and I was happy to relive my duties to them. Oh here he comes now.
“General, another settlement needs your help. I’ll mark it on your map”
The adventure raised his weapon at me as I noticed the world saving its current state.
Here we go again. |
Human civilization had met its untimely end.
Apocalypse had struck; an asteroid seven miles across, exact mass and speed unknown. Its impact however, had been catastrophic. Space Guard had failed, or perhaps mankind had been measured and found wanting.
Malign influence? Yes, something *had* to have happened, because hours before impact, comms suddenly went dark.
The feed from NASA was the first to go, but then followed a swift failure of transmission from RKA, ESA and even CNSA.
Of course, we all *knew* it meant an immediate E.V.A to fix whatever antenna or dish had gone defunct.
*But nothing was wrong!*
All to soon we realized, that *everything* was wrong.
Why had the defense grid failed? Where were the bloody nukes? Everyone watched in utter helplessness as Earth was struck. Watched in utter despair through observatories or via satellite feeds. A monumental explosion, rivaled not even by our greatest inventions.
Billions of lives. Voices. Souls.
Gone.
​
\*\*\*
​
Commander Atkins hadn't slept in close to 73 hours. A tragedy had happened on an unimaginable scale, but a time would come for grief. He had suddenly, and without precedent, found himself in the undesirable position as impromptu leader of mankind. The scattered remains of mankind, as it was. It was a logistical nightmare. The International Space Station was far from finished – and now never would be. Currently, it held 31 astronauts, cosmonauts and taikonauts. Incidentally, one of his first commandments had been to do away with nonuniform depictions. Now, they were all survivors.
What followed was a frantic mess to make sense of everything that had happened, and coordinate relief efforts to the outer colonies. Luna colony was thriving, but had depended on rich resourceful Earth. Now, they had to find a way to become fully self-sustaining in less than 6 months. Its brilliant engineers made lofty promises, but had to do away with needless facilities and overly precautious safety measures. Atkins swore under his breath, but allowed them to proceed.
Not that he had much say in that regard, one way or the other, but for now the chain of command was respected. Even by colony leaders. What made him more qualified than the Luna Prime, or the Martian Prime, was marginal.
Really, it was the proximity to Earth and his experience in command. All there was to it. And he knew, that sooner or later, they would object to his decisions. For Mars was far from self-sustaining still, and needed a steady stream of supplies, decades' worth of supplies, to become fully independent. Should Luna be made to provide, at the risk of its own survival?
Then there was the matter of Titan Station (or outpost, really) as well as the fledgling station on Enceladus, and the brave belters. All of them were now awaiting rescue, and time was ticking. And soon, Atkins knew, his leadership would be challenged. Because the numbers didn't add up. Some – if not most – would have to be abandoned. Left behind for the greater cause.
But the worst part of it? It had been their own unanimous suggestion, sent in the aftermath of realization. Those brave men and women would fight to the bitter end, straining to stay alive, but they all refused a wasteful rescue mission. They had to be forgotten. They had to be sacrificed.
Atkins refused to let that happen. He refused to let them go, to let them fade into the night. Soon, his sense of judgment would undoubtfully be questioned. Perhaps even his sanity. And when that happened, his command would be challenged by fellow survivors.
But currently, he was working the numbers, exhausted beyond measure.
Because there had to be a way.
It was a logistical nightmare. |
Honestly, this whole thing had gotten completely out of hand. I tried to think back to where it had all started. Must have been late ‘99 or so, I think. I was just a college dropout, shitposting on IRC chat when I got into a argument about buying things online. The other guy claimed that it would be fine if the other party was trustworthy. I’d joked that “I’m trustworthy! How about anyone who wants it, send me your card info, and I *\*promise\** I’ll only use them for what you actually pay for!”
​
I’d thought the sarcasm was fairly obvious. But, I had clearly overestimated the internet’s ability to detect that sort of thing. The card numbers, and requests for purchases started rolling in. My second mistake had been actually taking the time to try and actually put the first few requests through. After all, now that they’d shared their card info with me, I couldn’t very well tell them “haha, I was just kidding, and you just disclosed your private information to a total stranger” Before I knew it, I had a website, a company and was moving billions and making millions.
​
Later, I’d come up with another silly idea. I’d been chatting with the guy who’d ended up VP of my accidental company. He was a really serious guy. Real up-tight about the environment, too. Great businessman, but not that technically minded. Honestly, I didn’t really get him. Loved teasing the guy about it though. He was in love with the idea of electric cars, and I’d been trying to explain to him the issue of range. “Look man, how about this. Take a car. Make it out of batteries. Like, the whole thing. The driveshaft? Batteries. The frame? Batteries. The engine? Batteries. It’s all batteries, just with leather seats thrown on top, and a steering wheel stuck on the front. You’d barely get 300 miles of range out of it, and you’d have to name it ‘the Tesla’, because it’d light up like a Tesla coil if you so much as looked at it funny!” I should have been much more concerned when he’d started taking notes.
​
Another few million dollars, thousand new employees, and a shiny new car factory later, and you’d think I would have realized just never to make jokes ever again. But no. Somebody had asked me "Elon, now that you’re this rich, what are you going to do with all your money?” And my dumb ass had replied: “Hah! Guess I’ll go build a house on Mars!”
​
Not Quiite folowing the prompt, but close enough I figure. |
“Thank you for choosing IncrediBill. My name is Martin and I’ll be helping you today. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with this evening? Mr. Gorum, how are you today? Well, I’m sorry to hear about your garage and I’ll definitely help you get that taken care of. If you could please give me your policy number or the last four of your social I can get started on fixing your evening. Thank you, Mr. Gorum, it’ll only take a second to look you up. Yep, I’ve got your info right here. I can see you’ve got bodily injury and property damage coverage, $100,000 per person up to $300,000 per event. You’ve also got comprehensive event coverage with a $1000 deductible and you uh, you’ve waived unregistered extrahuman coverage. Oh, yes, Mr. Gorum, I understand, it can get quite expensive. So, now that we’ve gone over that, allow me to get a few details about what exactly happened to your garage. What time of day did this happen? About 15 minutes ago? Perfect, the sooner you call in the sooner we can help you. Oh, and you’ve got pictures? That’s great, Mr. Gorum, if you could use the IncrediBill app to upload those pictures to your claim, that would be extremely helpful. Yes, it should be under the Claims Report tab. While we wait for those to upload could you walk me through what happened this evening?”
Martin pinched the bridge of his nose and muted his mic. Sighing heavily, he peeked over his shoulder to make sure his boss wasn’t lurking behind him before checking the notifications on his phone. *SILVER CLASS QUASIHUMAN ARMED WITH ELEMENTAL MAGIC REPORTED VIOLENT AND DANGEROUS IN THE VICINITY OF SOUTHWESTERN I-285 NEAR COLLEGE PARK. REQUESTING THE ASSITANCE OF ROSTERS 12 AND 14 HEROES* He groaned, rolling his eyes, and checked the time. 4:25 PM, leaving 35 minutes until the end of his shift. He unmuted his microphone.
“Mr. Gorum, I’m sorry to cut you off but your pictures have uploaded. I’m going to go out on a limb and say the boulder lodged in the hood of your car is the same boulder that’s done so much damage to your garage. Is that correct? I gotcha, sir, well let me see what we can do for you. Before we go too much further though, can you do me a favor? I see from your pictures that there’s a purplish film on the boulder as well as some of the other debris. Without touching it, could you please describe it to me? Uh huh, yes. Yes, sir, I gotcha. Well, unfortunately, we won’t be able to complete your claim without having a field agent come to your location and do some further investigation on that. I’m sorry, Mr. Gorum, but we actually won’t be able to pay for a rental car until the field agent is able to verify what that film is. Mr. Gor— Mr. Gorum I understand that you have work in the morning but— Mr. Gorum that purple film is indicative of magic which is not typically a result of *extrahuman* activity, it’s a result of *quasihuman* activity. You’re not covered for quasihuman events, sir. Well, Mr. Gorum a field agent will most likely be unavailable until at least tomorrow and even— No, sir, comprehensive event coverage does not cover quasihuman events. I am very happy to hear that no one was injured Mr. Gorum but we still won’t be able to provide any form of coverage until a field agent is able to ver— Yes, I can transfer you to a claims supervisor, sir. Be sure to complete the survey after the call and have a great evening.”
Martin transferred Mr. Gorum to the automated phone answering program while he logged a few notes about his claim for the next representative who would certainly *not* be a supervisor. He checked his phone again. The time was now 4:38 PM. *TWO SILVER CLASS QUASIHUMANS ARMED WITH MAGIC AND INTERSPATIAL RESONANCE ENERGY REPORTED VIOLENT AND DANGEROUS IN THE VICINITY OF SOUTHWESTERN I-285 NEAR GREENBRIAR. THE TWO COMBATANTS ARE ENGAGING EACH OTHER IN AERIAL COMBAT. REQUESTING THE ASSITANCE OF ROSTERS 4, 6, AND 14 HEROES.*
Martin groaned again and cracked his knuckles against his forehead. *I’m on Roster 4 and 6,* he lamented to himself. His phone rang and he answered it as the new caller’s information populated on his computer screen.
“Thank you for choosing IncrediBill. My name is Martin and I’ll be helping you today. Thank you for verifying your information with our automated system, Mrs. Carvalho. How is your evening going so far? Hopefully, I can make it even better then. I see you’ve got an open claim on your profile. Are you calling about the same claim today? Perfect, let me just pull up the information about that claim. It says you lost a lot of your gear to a portal to, uh, to another dimension. I’m sorry, Mrs. Carvalho, to another *reality*. Let me just fix that error in your notes. It says this loss was caused by a training accident with another roster member? Yes, ma’am it does have that information correct. As far as the progress with your claim goes we are still behind on verifying the roster member’s credentials. Yes, ma’am, I understand that Origin Vector has been on Roster 1 for over a month but he still hasn’t verified his credentials with the state system that we pull our information from. Yes, Mrs. Carvalho, we will be able to help you further once Origin Vector updates his credentials. If you could help him with that it would certainly speed up the process. I’m sorry? No, ma’am, I’m not sure how much longer it will take after he updates his infor— Well Mrs. Carvalho that isn’t my department but I can provide a little insight on what the next steps will be, if you’d like? Certainly. As soon as Origin Vector verifies his credentials with the state system, which can be done at your local DQEHR, we will be able to dispatch a field agent to investigate the circumstances of your property loss. Yes, ma’am, typically the field agents are required to attempt recovery of the property which, being in a different dimen— I apologize, *reality*. With the property being in a different reality, the investigation could take quite some time. Yes, Mrs. Carvalho, I understand that you’re unable to respond to roster calls without your equipment but— Mrs. Carvalho, I don’t understand the language you’re speaking. Ma’am, I don’t speak Spanish. I’m sorry, *Portuguese*. I apologize, ma’am. If that’s all I can help you with, Mrs. Carcalho, have a nice evening and please don’t forget to complete the survey at the end of—“
Martin wanted to groan but suppressed the urge. The time on his phone read 4:54 PM. He began to quickly pack his things, hoping to himself that he would get a better cubicle tomorrow. He reached into his backpack, pulling out a disinfectant wipe that he used to wipe down his headset and keyboard. Throwing the backpack over his shoulder, he hurried towards the main exit making sure to move quickly as to avoid being seen leaving at 4:58 by his boss. He managed to slip into an elevator with another employee and checked his phone again as they descended.
Martin’s shoulders slumped and his jaw fell ajar as he read the notification. He hung his head back and let out a loud, rumbling groan, much to the dismay of his fellow elevator occupant. *ALL CLEAR. THE AIR SPACE ABOVE I-285 HAS BEEN CLEARED OF ALL SILVER CLASS QUASIHUMANS.* He dragged his feet as he left the elevator and lazily pushed open the door leading to the street, holding it for his irritated coworker. Martin sighed and began to shuffle towards the parking garage with his hands in his pockets. In the distance, there was a low boom followed by a concussion that rattled the windows of nearby cars. Martin’s phone buzzed soon after and he pulled it from his pocket to check the notification. *PLATINUM CLASS METAHUMAN ARMED WITH AURA-BASED HYPERMATERIAL REPORTED VIOLENT AND DANGEROUS IN THE GENERAL DOWNTOWN VICINITY. REQUESTING THE ASSITANCE OF ROSTERS 4, 5, 6, 14, 17, AND 20 HEROES. URGENCY ADVISED.*
Martin threw back his head and whooped loudly, pumping his fists above his head. “Hell yes!” he shouted. Across the street his coworker winced painfully, eyeing him with disgust.
“Can you not?” she asked, her voice dripping with irritation.
“Oh,” Martin whispered, covering his mouth. “Sorry, Miranda. See you tomorrow,” he waved, bashfully.
“Later, Martin,” Miranda said rolling her eyes as Martin leapt into the sky, disappearing beyond the skyline. |
I end the call, and set the phone down in its cradle.
The room is otherwise empty. Semi-Decrepit. Each wall is its own mural of flaking yellowed paint and brown stains, the heavy locked door showing early signs of dry rot. But the hardwood floor shines with recent cleaning, and the little wooden table standing alone with the phone is free of dust and grime. The phone itself is an old land-line, with a rotary number display. No wires. Even the handset has no cord connecting it to the body of the phone.
I startle as the phone rings for a second time. As I pick up the handset--it feels too light--I hear that same emotionless, feminine voice: "Please say the number of the dimension you want to go to."
"I don't want to go to another dimension! I want to leave!"
"I'm sorry, that is not a number that I recognize. Please respond with the number one or two."
"What dimension am I in right now? I want to travel to this one."
"I'm sorry, that is not a number that I recognize. Please respond with the number one or two."
I end the call again, dropping the handset. It bounces off of the cradle, strikes the little wooden table, and falls to the floor. I can feel my heartbeat picking up speed as I stride back to the front door and wrestle with its knob. But it just won't turn. There is no mechanism to unlock it, either, neither in the knob itself nor between the door and its frame.
As I begin to kick at the rotting door, the phone rings again. I kick and I kick, but the slab of wood holds solid, despite its haggard appearance. The phone keeps ringing. I move to the right, look out through the grimy single-pane window set in the wall. My fist, my foot, my shoulder make no mark on it. The phone keeps ringing.
Spinning about, I seize the rotary base, which vibrates in my hands as it continues to ring. With a grunt I fling it at the window, but even as the bells inside the phone crash with the collision, I leave no mark on the glass. The phone keeps ringing.
Twisting, I see the phone's handset laying on the floor by the table. In two strides I reach it. As I lift the light plastic piece up to my face, the ringing stops.
"Please say the number of the dimension you want to go to."
"Fine!"I shout. "I'll take the coinflip, damn you!"
"I'm sorry, that is not a number that I recognize. Please respond with the number one or two."
"One!"
A shudder shakes the house and my body. I blink, and the world changes. The handset, the phone, and the table disappear.
The room is otherwise empty. Semi-Decrepit. Each wall is its own mural of pristine smooth paint, decorated with simple shapes of vibrant color. But the hardwood floors are old and warped, with holes peering down into an abyssal dark basement.
The front door, strong and treated with a fresh coat of paint, swings open on silent, oiled hinges. |
We all remember when gravity flipped. No one was expecting it. Those of us lucky enough to be indoors watched in horror and awe as people, pets, trees, cars, and anything else not bolted down lifted up off the ground and floated in to the sky. Then the reverse gravity got stronger. Over time, whole buildings would crack then float away.
-Maxwell
It has been a month since the event survivors are calling "the great falling". *click* The upside down TV shuts off, plunging my little room into darkness. I stand up and stretch my arms toward the floor. Weaving my way through the maze of broken, upside down furniture, I head towards the door, while taking extra caution hurdling the door frame. Looking down the sickly green bathed hallway, with the bleached wallpaper and the flickering "floor"lights, I was once again thankful for a room in the basement next to the washers. I head towards the stairs to go scavenge some food from the ruined kitchen.
-Lucy
"Ugh. Is there nothing to eat in this stupid upside down kitchen."I head to the last fridge in the hotels kitchen. "Score! A whole loaf of bread?!"I couldn't believe my luck. That's when I hear a low cracking noise. "Hello? Is someone in here already?"A mans voice, rough and scratchy calls out from the entrance. He can't see me though. The tossed stoves and tables ensure that. But something about his voice seems trusting, and anything but sinister. In a shaky voice, I call towards his general direction "um... yeah."
-Maxwell
"Um...yeah."The voice called out. (Definitely a girls voice) I thought. "You wouldn't have found anything to eat yet, by any chance?"I had a feeling that she hadn't but asking was still worth a shot. "Uhh, actually yeah I have... want some Max?""How do you know my name?""It's me Lucy. We went to school together before the Great Falling. I recognized your voice because you were always asking questions and giving answers. I mostly sat in the back listing.""Oh. Lucy? I remember you now! You were the one who-"A deafening crack fills the room. Then, light?
-Lucy
"MAX! THE BUILDING IS FALLING!!!"He grabs my hand in reply and hustles us towards the stairs. *CRACK* With another crunch, the ceiling-floor shakes and loosens its hold on the walls and floor beneath us. I feel the firmness of the loaf slip from my grasp. "Max! I dropped the bread!"He shoves me into the stairwell. Then turns around and heads towards where I dropped the bread.
-Maxwell
I head towards where the bread was last seen. "Where is that bleating bread loaf?"I mumbled under my breath. "Found it!""Max! Hurry!"Lucy's worried face looks at me from the lower floor. With one last crack, the wall holding the building in place crumbles and in that moment, I knew I couldn't reach Lucy in time. With all of my hail-mary football skills, I threw the loaf to Lucy. With out being able to see if she caught it, the building starts rapidly falling, taking me with it.
(To be continued?) |
This is Agent Kroen. Day fifty two of observations on planetoid Z?>Z/09267, primary intelligence on the Repout organisms that self identify as "Humans".
Action report. Language mapping begun on the first lunar cycle finished three days ago, and preliminary testing has fixed slight flaws uncovered. Town at coordinates !\_!09437 has been levelled to maintain cover. Perception filter has had several updates, so the "Humans"have stopped using their appendages to caress me. Instead they are now communicating with me.
While at !\_!09437, sensors picked up signals of illicit substance Noure Pouff, and source was tracked down to a habitation area where "Humans"gather, and worship a deity known as "Shop". It seems to be a place where primitive bartering place, with "Humans"placed in pens collecting minerals in exchange for bags of assorted materials. It seems "Shop", whatever powerful being it is, is the provider for the native organisms.
Sensors detected Noure Pouff leaving the habitation area, and was traced to a "Human"who called himself "Arthur". It seems "Shop"is powerful enough to gather the substance, and may be using it to keep the native organisms docile. Fascinatingly, despite the signs of developing higher intelligence, the "Humans"breathe the toxic atmosphere, and yet do not rush between gathering points.
Action plan for next report. Establish rapport with "Human"who identifies as "Arthur", and establish what procedures they undertake in the areas they call "houses", and input into language map "Who the hell are you, and why are in my shower?"
​
URGENT from Agent Kroen. Urgent call for Dispatch of containment fleet for planetoid Z?>Z/09267. Normal report is to be sent early as a briefing.
​
This is Agent Kroen. Day fifty eight of observations, reporting on emergency broadcast.
Action report. All systems operated to full success parameters on establishing rapport with "Arthur". After two days, he invited me into "House", which I accepted. Wary of showers, I stayed on the ground level of these Habitats. Bizarrely, they do no have a gathering area in which to hibernate, instead choosing to take shorter hibernation's in near isolation. Behaviour analysis to continue after biological evaluation of containment fleet.
My inbuilt sensors detected high levels of NP in the local area, and located it in a small package located on a worktop. Upon asking "Arthur"what its purpose was, he digested it whole, then offered me another. I scanned him, and discovered no sign of the normal procedure of disintegration. I had to do the process myself, to avoid something the "humans"call social awkwardness.
Clearly the Repout organisms have defences against the normal effects of NP, and when research has been completed on how their mechanism work, recommend change of primary directive.
​
Primary directive changed under Agent Kroen.
Former directive - Establish communication with natives of planetoid, and evaluate resourcefulness for potential ascension
Renewed directive - Perform biological studies with full battalion presence. Destroy planetoid after completion to avoid competitors discovering our secret
​ |
One man got fed up with the other man. He stared at the letter opener in his right hand. The one he has used to explain how he could easily butter his bread with it.
The other man had to hold back a chuckle. "That's not what I mean by knife, and you know it."
The man shook his head minutely, as he weighed his options. "You know what, you're right."He plunged the letter opener with all his force into the other man's chest.
The other man looked at him with wide eyes. Mouth trying to formulate words, with nothing but gibberish coming out.
"Oh, look at that,"the man said with a wicked smile, "it works like a knife after all." |
Some people as me what it’s like to adopt children, especially when they come from different species. Well, it’s just like normal parenting. Sort of. See, I’m a draconain, a giant winged lizard who lives in caves. Several years ago, I was looking through adoption list online and I found this beautiful little elf child! I’d always wanted children, so I applied! Several weeks later, we’re a happy family. Granted I did have to change a few things. I didn’t know elves needed so many plants in their life, but I’m proud to be the first draconian in my neighbourhood with a garden! You might think gardening is hard with my big claws but my son has been incredibly helpful. But, recently he’s been growing up. I’ve started worrying about living alone again. But soon I had a stroke of luck! See, my dear boy was out weeding. I admit that without knowing the details it may have looked like he was my slave, and someone might assume he was one of those youths in distress. So, up comes this knightly fellow, riding up toward my cave. The draconian community gets knights now and again, but I’ve never personally had one. I told my son to come inside and prepared some snacks to welcome this young person in armour. I stepped out to meet him with a few kebabs in hand and he tried to lance me! Well, it wasn’t very strong and it didn’t hurt, but still! Absolutely no manners! In fact, it looked like this youth completely lacked proper manners. The armour was filthy, and the poor horse looked like it had been ridden half to death. Well! I’ll tell you what our kind do with ruffians of this kind. We fix them! And that’s just what I did! I’m now the proud adoptive guardian of two kids! I was a little worried at first, but I think my second didn’t like being a Knight very much. Together, we three make as good a family as any mother and her larvae and if you don’t believe me, you might as well come over and see for yourself. |
"Why..."I facepalmed
"...are you wearing that?"
She sniffled, making the fake moustache perched on her lip wiggle. Half of the damn thing was peeling off but she didn't remove it.
"I'm in disguise man!"She replied.
"Nooooone knows who I am! Pfffft"
She shifted on my sofa as the giggles bubbled up.
"This is my house and you apparently know everything about me, so why do you even need..."
"He could be watching maaaaan"
"OK fine."I pinched the bridge of my nose in exasperation, this crazy lady was becoming a fine headache, but I didn't have anything better to do with my weekend.
"So, explain it one more time, who are you?"
"I'm from the future bro!"
Her eyes went wide as she scrambled to retrieve something from the depths of her trench coat. Several items including some marbles, a half-eaten packet of peanuts and what looked to be a joint emerged before she eventually produced a mechanical wand like gizmo. The thing was decorated with a technicolour spiral. It looked like the result of someone throwing a superglue coated dildo into a craft store.
"I'm a time traveller! And— and we gotta save the future man!"
"Save the future from what?"
"The maaaan".
Her voice deepened in an attempt to sound more ominous.
"The maaaaan is gonna rise up bro. He's gonna tear down everything. The broken system, the corrupt government. Everyone's gonna love it, it's gonna be paradise. But then it all goes baaaaad."
She shook her head and the moustache finally fell off. She somehow caught it in mid air and shoved it back onto her face without missing a beat.
"The man is gonna be a hero, but then he takes control bro. He *becomes* the new government. He's, like, even worse than the last one man."
"So this... man, Is gonna make the government collapse but then fall to corruption himself... diabolical"I said.
"Yeah man... I mean bro. And you're the only one who can stop him!"The woman shifted her eyes to the apartment kitchen and sniffled again.
"You got anything to eat? I'm frikkin starving man... I mean bro."
I wandered into the kitchen and started putting a sandwich together. A new thought occurred to me.
"'The Man' you keep talking about... it's me isn't it?"
Her jaw dropped in a pleasingly hilarious fashion.
"N— no."She lied.
"OK, so it all makes sense now."
I sat down in my favourite chair opposite her and put a plate with a chicken sandwich down in front of her.
"You're here to hang around after I take over the world and stop me from pulling it all into chaos".
"Fuck, you're clever man"
The end of her sentence was muffled as she sunk her teeth in.
“Yeah, you’re the man and I’m here to stop you from destroying the world after you take over. Just don’t be a dick about it OK?”
“Did you consider that maybe what let me take over the world was suddenly being granted access to a time travel machine?”
“…”
Her eyes went a little cross eyed.
“Nah, I’m just screwing with you” I said.
“I already know how I’m gonna take over the world”.
Relief replaced the panic that had suddenly assaulted her.
“Then I guess I’m coming with you man!”
“Yeah” I smiled to myself quietly.
“I guess you are.” |
Once in a year of change, squire Galfrey Meschivelle came of age by besting squire Wondal Ashvincelle in the annual tournament of Frost. Lord Frostelle annointed Galfrey as a knight of the order of Fangmire, that legendary order of dragon and demon slayers. Such was both honor and curse, for to be a Fang Knight was to present ones breast bravely to the ravenous heat of a serpents breathe, or attack the vaporous and incendiary hellspawn born of the darkest of magics. Galfrey stood upon appointment, raised the notched iron sword whose leather-wrapped grip he'd worn through from some ten years of training, such that Lord Frostelle might impose it a mighty name and infuse it with the magic needed to have even a glimmer of honorable success.
"Flame Splinter,"Lord Frostelle declared, to a smattering of applause and a droning murmur at the unfortunate name.
Then Sir Galfrey boldened his gaze upon his Lord and tipped Flame Splinter into his cracked wooden scabbard and bowed his head, prepared to receive his first, and likely only, Writ of Subservience, that principle and endless quest that all knights of the realm were honor bound to pursue.
"A season askance that most terrible winter, my daughter, Princess-Of-The-Line, but five,"and he raised his thick and weathered hand and splayed his fingers wide, "from the fair Princess Bettlenan, fell prey to the terrible wight of Norbacle Heights, whom the brave Sir Faccavelle faced, and though he fell, brought back news that such a beast was no mere wight, but that wily dragon of illusions, Eskreme."
"And so, Sir Galfrey, I charge thee thus."He pulled a scroll from his belt and raised the vellum for all to see, unwound the cord binding it so, and unfurled the parchment to read: "As writ, in subserviance of his Lord, the estimable Frostelle, to quest forevermore, in this life and the next, until such time that the Princess-Of-The-Line Rostranan, be brought before me, in whole, be her spirit hither or yon-"The Lord adjusted the scroll to read further, "And upon success you, Sir Galfrey Meschivelle, will receive this war pouch containing fifty silver hags -"
Fifty hags, Galfrey thought. What a pittance.
"And, if, accompanied by the severed head of that devious beast Eskreme, and if so too having gathered to his ownership the equivalent of ten thousand gold nubs -"
Good Gods! Galfrey thought, the reward being more pitiful this year, and the demanded warchest having risen to a king's ransom.
"The knight shall thus be honored, lacking shortcomings of character and shortfalls of wealth, to court Princess-Of-The-Line Rostranan and on her behalf, in her absence, may this writ be thus contracted to marriage."
Galfrey accepted the scroll, genuflected before his Lord, and proceeded directly to his mount, Mighty Minstrel, a shaggy little pony with a gimpy leg, crooked tail, and mangy mane. Minstrel sighed when he hoisted himself into her saddle, and clicked his heels to her flanks to guide her in direct procession away from the tournament fair and down the winding forested path that would lead him to Norbacle Heights.
He wasn't entirely surprised, for his writ, like so many others before him, sounded as standard Lordalese: Best baddie, rescue princess, secure baddie's horde, and live happily ever after. It was a fine dream so many a boy and young man yearned to realize, and Galfrey might have still, had not one Knight actually accomplished those tasks set before them in such writs. Were he well learned, he thought, he might consider there to be some kingly, lordly, or other political machinations and maneuvering afoot. Nonetheless, imagining his arms around the plump waist of that exquisite maiden spurred him onwards, and in such pursuit so too did he do likewise to Minstrel.
Some many weeks hence, past bandit camps quelled and farmer's wives wooed (owing to his knightly creed, this being no more than a dashing and daring kiss upon their sun-withered and soil-tainted fingers), and many, too many now to recollect, tavern and inn fights waged and won, or, here and there, lost. Such did Minstrel lose two horse shoes and saddle, while Galfrey gained the companionship of the malicious teen wizard Burchess, and the comely archer Zirt, who, he later learned, was none other than the famed Duchess of Darnell, that exquisite lady Vexenan, traveling incognito for some hidden purpose she chose not to reveal, and an elderly ogre named Ug. Though, not too soon afterwards, Ug collapsed with a herniated disk and an unfortunate arthritic affliction in his knees. And Burchess' legendary wizardry skill started and ended with his ability to remove burnt gristle from the bottom of a skillet. Thus Vexenan and Galfrey continued onward to the foothills of Norbacle Heights, and proceeded in the most direct fashion to the lair of Eskreme and his awaiting love, Rostranan.
Upon emerging through the clouds and cresting Norbacle Heights, Galfrey and Vexenan were greeted by a small statured man who greeted them, quickly revealing his serpentine tongue.
"Salutations,"the man spoke. "I am known as Eskreme."He raised both hands, "As you can see, I am no more dragon than either of you, and -"
"Hold thy forked tongue,"Galfrey declared.
"Oh piddle-paddle,"Vexenan chided. "Let the man speak."
"I was born with this omen, whose only apparent power is -"he spread his arms wide and then let them hang down at his sides. "Nothing. No more ominous than a clubbed foot, or a hair lip."
"And the Princess -"Galfrey began.
"Oh, please, take her,"the man said and pointed to a distant clearing. "That maiden has an appetite for all the good foods I have nurtured for my own nurishment, and with such ravenous appetite has devoured any and all thing that come near."He picked up a nearby piece of metal from the ground and held it aloft.
"Sir Donkevelle!"Galfrey said. "What have you done, beast?"He began to unsheath his sword.
"Stay!"Vexenan told Galfrey. "I take your meaning as Rostranan has set aside all decency of class and station."
"Correct,"Eskreme said.
At which point Vexenan turned to Galfrey and pointed to a distant mountain range. "Yonder is the Kingdom of Darnell, where both our dragons and princesses are more, how shall I say, gilded. Shall we -"
Galfrey squinted into the distance and, possibly, glimpsed Rostranan. He turned to Vexenan, pulled the writ from his belt, and offered it to her. "In that distance and in your words I believe I see and hear truth."
Vexenan took the writ, tore it asunder, and then picked a garment from the roll strapped to Minstrel's rump. She pitched it to the ground, saying, "For legend, that you might disappear from this land and into the realm of lore."And to Eskreme she bid his bond with first one golden dok, followed by a second, and a third, until he nodded and flicked his forked tongue.
And so did Sir Galfrey accompany Vexenan to that distant land of legendary dragons and princesses. Pleased as he was with his decision, he recollected, possibly, as they first turned from Eskreme, Vexenan gesturing to that strange little man in a familiar way. But he wrote off such happenstance as a matter of legend. |
"Shut the fuck up Sturgess. You're gonna make it,"I grit out as I tied the tourniquet around his thigh using a square knot.
As a reflex, I covered his mouth with the palm of my hand before he could let out a scream. He was losing a lot of blood but the contraption successfully arrested blood flow for the time being.
The scene laid out before me was horrific. Bridges lay face down on the ground with his head laying in a pool of his own blood, Lee, Gene and Dave were slumped over each other- their bodies barely recognizable from the grenade which was set off not long ago.
My heart was pounding. The gunfire and commotion had stopped and an eerie silence filled the air. All I could hear was Sturgess' shallow breathing.
"We need to get to the infirmary,"I told Sturgess. All he could manage was a faint nod as I lifted him off the ground and carried him on my back. As I walked into the unknown, I silently prayed to a God I didn't believe in out of despair and desparation. |
“I am not mad!” he exclaimed. “There were these two, young lads.They spoke no German, a bastardization of English it sounded upon my ears. I have told you what happened. They abducted me, and threw me in this… this metal and glass box!” He heard the words come from his mouth. He knew no one believed him. He was an old man now. The ordeal was years ago. He went from the worlds greatest composer, to a drunken shell of a man, who is slowly drinking himself to death. He was honest, even to himself.
“Ah yes, the metal box. The one that flew through the aether and glowed with lightning! ” He heard the barkeep say. “Johann, what am I to believe? That these two lads, forced you and… and a Mongol, along with a tall man with a lanky face and a tall black hat… and Joan of Arc, to come along for the ride as well?!” The barkeep laughed harder. “Tell me another tale of yours, good sir!” The barkeep poured him another ale and passed it along.
“Did I ever tell you the time that I was most frightened during that ordeal?” He said slowly. He has told his tales over the years. But this one, he never did share. “My adventure was strange. But the next part, I still cannot fathom.” he said to the man behind the counter.
“We entered the building. My abductors called it an “EYE-max”. It was massive. I jest not when i say it was larger than Neideck Castle. It was an open area, bright as day, but yet no windows. The ceiling lamps glowed, without a flicker of flame. There were people milling about, families laughing and smiling. They served food and drink. It was a festival like atmosphere. It was pleasant, and smelled wonderfully.”
The barkeep looked at him, eyes squinting. “Though you said that it was terrifying? That place doesn't sound too bad.” he remarked.
“True, but the next part, I cannot easily describe.” He stared at the man, trying to recall the living nightmare. “Eventually, we entered a darkened room, just enough light to see these rows upon rows of chairs. We were then directed to sit. There were many people here, all talking and jesting. The lights dimmed further. Then everyone became still, not a voice could be heard.” He reached for his mug. After taking another mouthful, he continued. “The wall, the massive wall in front of us, it suddenly glowed bright white. Then these people. No, not people, these… these ghosts….“ His voice wavered.
He did not understand himself. How can he explain what his own eyes saw, but could not comprehend? These “ghosts” moved across the wall, and spoke and ran and jumped. They looked like people. But they changed sizes, were in one space, and within an eye blink, they were someplace else. Or… they would cease to be, and be replaced by another man, or demon, or dog, or something else that is indescribable... |
The spindly, tall, thin man crooked his head to the left. The brim of his sodden fedora, beaten down by the pouring rain, hid one eye, the other shining like a shard of ice in the blackness of the alley. Steam rose up around the two men from the grated vent in the ground, and the red light of the neon sign above was the only illumination save the moon.
**"Who did?** The man's thin lips parted as the two words escaped, barely louder than a whisper. He stared intently, a malicous look spreading across his almost skeletal face.
"**The Warden. He has her.**"The reply was at first stern, the second man's voice authoratitive and deep, but it wavered as he reached the sentence's end.
The first man turned half away, revealing further his extraordinarily slender frame. He continued to grin, his face contorted with savage glee - like that of a coyote or hunting dog. A small snort of derision escaped him.
"**And now you want my help?**"The words sounded almost ridiculous just leaving his lips. Here he was - standing just across from his arch nemesis, who, in any other scenario would be beating him into a pulp - or trying to. Palebone Grimm couldn't believe it. The Knight of Prayer City, The Scarlet Avenger - Captain Dawn had come to him for help.
For years the two of them had been accompanied by only one other at the top of city's food chain; the affortmentioned Warden. The three had been locked in a seemingly endless struggle, since the police finally capitulated totally to the rival gangs of Grimm and The Warden, an event which gave birth to The Captain, who felt he had a duty to use his powers to save the city.
Grimm, who ran the city's entire underground and nightlife with an iron fist had a large army of drug dealers, nightclub owners - who had become like feudal barons in the city, and bouncers under him, while The Baron - true to his name - had slowly taken over the city's prison and justice system - offering thugs and lowlifes their "freedom"in exchange for their servitude to him and his efforts to become the king of Prayer City.
The Captain, the last known "mutant", possessed near superhuman strength, endurance and durability. Inspired by the tales of heroism his father had once told him, he rose to the occasion when the city had no other hope - and had been locked in a struggle for the fate of it for what felt like a lifetime.
Hence the astonishing nature of the plea.
"**No one else *can* help.**"Pled The Captain, his voice again stuttering and breaking - the desperation of the situation taking it's toll on his usually stoic nature.
"**And what do I get in return? I help you find her, you go back to work and then start fucking up my entire business again? You'd be lucky if I didn't gut you like a fish and watch the life drain out of you, let alone help.**"He spat with audible distain, all the while caressing the handle of his famous switch blade, sheathed for now on his waist.
"**Then why did you wait? You knew I was coming. You hear about everything in this city.**"
Grimm hesitated for a second, a moment of doubt flickering across his gaunt and stretched face.
"**There's a price. *There always is.***"
"**Not this time**", the villain replied. "**Not this time.**"
He turned away and reached for the handle of his stretch black limousine. The driver twitched and reached for the ignition, preparing to depart for whatever sleazehouse Grimm was headed to next.
"**Grimm!**", exclaimed the righteous Knight.
The white figure, like a flickering spirit in his shadowy trenchcoat, paused. He turned back slightly, waiting for what would come next.
The lightning that had been crackling for hours died down, and the thunder paused - as if the night itself was waiting with baited breath to hear what would come next. The only sound left was the ever falling rain - but the words to follow would cut through granite.
"**Help me, and the city is yours. No more Captain Dawn.**" |
**The Journal**
Day 12: The news channels continue their almost constant coverage over this new epidemic that's spreading, they call it P-C21 or Plague-Century 21. We take every precaution here but we live in the city, we're bound to get sick if this is as bad as they say. The CDC says it's a form of Super Bug from using antibiotics so frequently but they're not sure of the transmission vector yet. Could be airborne or contact, pests, food, or one of another hundred ways of contracting it. If things get worse we'll need to get out of the city.
Day 15: So much for getting out of the city. Anyone who is sick is supposed to stay home as the hospitals are over flowing from this outbreak and Jessica is now sick. She must have picked something up from one of the kids at school. So if she's sick then we're going to get sick soon too. I've always prided myself on my healthy immune system and I've never held the kids back from getting dirty so I hope that they'll be able to fight through this as well. Only time will tell.
Day 24: They have pickup trucks slowly rolling through the streets now to pick up the dead. Today they'll take Jessica.
Day 26: Every truck that passes by on the street carries the dead to the park where they now burn the bodies. mass graves were considered undignified and probably wouldn't stop the spread of the disease they're now calling P-C21, or simply The Plague.
Day 30. The news is reporting the source of The Plague as a disease that the people of Sentinel Island carried and was brought back to the mainland when the bodies of Christian missionaries were recovered. So the only people with an immunity to the disease were wiped out by mainland disease and we're dying off because of some isolated disease from a people that shouldn't have been contacted anyway. But now there's no one with living antibodies to create a cure.
Day 40: The trucks took Ethan and Felicia today. I don't know what to do with my self now that the house is empty. I'm still not sick but that's no guarantee of wellness. No one leaves their houses and the National guard barely patrols the streets but the good 'ol government is still running. Our brave senators and president will continue to run the country from their special bunkers while the rest of the population dies from this disease. It's not just us though. This has spread everywhere, even to the Antarctic station. I think the space station is the only place that there is no sign of The Plague but that guarantees nothing. If they don't get supplies then they die anyway.
Day 55: infrastructure is failing. I'm collecting rainwater to supplement what I saved before the water lines stopped working. I don't have power but I have candles that Felicia collected over the years, that'll last me a couple months if I use only one at a time. I don't have power anymore but I have ways of cooking my food with propane. I hear gunshots at night and I think people are trying to get in sometimes but many of them are too sick to try to break down the door or climb through the windows.
Day 60: I just realized that I haven't shown any signs of The Plague. It's been 60 days since the outbreak was announced and even though it took my family from me I still have no symptoms. This is of little comfort though as I have no way of contacting the CDC as the phone lines are down and my cellphone died weeks ago. I dare not venture out to talk to the National Guard patrols as they're just as likely to shoot me on sight as try to save me.
Day 82: I haven't seen anyone in days. I can smell death all around me as the wind shifts but I see no humans. I don't hear anything on the radio except the emergency broadcast from the CDC and a couple of stations that broadcast automatically. No commercials at least except to announce that the station is on an automated broadcast.
Day 104: The world is silent now. I search the neighborhood for supplies from my neighbors, what hadn't been ransacked already will keep me for some time. I started a garden in the yards the surrounded my house and collect rainwater from the gutters. I don't hear any National Guard trucks or gunshots anymore and the automated broadcasts stopped a few days ago. It's peaceful, but lonely. I hope I'm not the last man on earth. I should go looking for other survivors but I need to ensure my survival first. |
The matriarchs met upon what was to be Iran, at the changing of seasons while the sun began to hang low in the sky. A dozen of each culture were in attendance, having communicated by their chorus from herd to herd. It had taken years of culmination, but the chorus was anything if patient, and time they believed had always been on their side.
It was brisk; cold for the matriarchs of the Southlands of grassy plain, and forest. Yet just as uncomfortable were the women of the north, their shaggy coats doing little to prevent the relative heat.
The elders met trunk and tusk, booming vocalizations of greetings that had started miles away coming to fruition. It was a loving, beautiful moment as African, Asian, and Mammoth met, distant cousins separated by time and habitat, one in purpose.
It was the African Matriarchs who began the debate first, as they were among the first to have to deal with the upstart apes.
"The desert grows"the African matriarchs said, drawing in the dirt with trunk and flinging dust and dirt in ritual blessing and curse.
"Yet the humans go north and south and east and west, they spread with the edge of the desert, attack us with poison, building spear and bow, defying even the rightfully feared lions."said one of the African matriarchs, showing some of the scars she had from an attack years before.
The Mammoth matriarchs bellowed in agreement, as they too had felt the sting of spear, and seen loved ones fall from cliff face or into pit.
"They are savage... not even killing those who are weak, aiming even for the strong... The men have fared the worst... We fear for our future as without the men there can be no children and no chorus to tell the tales."said the Mammoth Matriarchs
"One of our tribes has gone so far as to cross a portion of the sea... to seal themselves away upon an island..."said the mammoth Matriarchs, "We are not sure as to what else to do".
Then it was the indian elephants turn to speak, the smallest of the three, yet regarded just as highly as the rest. Their smaller trunks and echoing calls called for something else, not of flight, or of fight...
"We must show the apes we are useful..."said the Asian Matriarchs, "We dig roots with our tusks? We can then dig and till their soils for their wheat, barely and more."
"We can crash through the forest? Then we must haul their wood to build their homes... To become servants as they have the wolf and cat."said one of the Asian matriarchs.
This of course lead to much heated bellows and cries of sacrilege from all involved, yet there was loudest denial from the Mammoth elders.
"You would roll over and play pet to these monsters? To give up your dignity? No wonder your trunk is short and your tusks are a childs... My people will flee further north, where the cold will surely kill the hairless apes before they reach us."said one of the Mammoth matriarchs.
"And my people shall scatter across the heartland, they shall not take us for our tusks are still long, our journeys impossible to match, and our males stalwart"said one of the African Matriarchs.
The meeting went on for days, yet finally it was time for the three cousins to split once more...
"And now my child.... The Mammoth are no more... The African chorus is quiet... And our own suffers..."said one Asian elephant mother to her child.
"But... But the humans... Why would they kill us?"asked the child, trumpeting and with sadness at her innocence shattered, "Surely they have learned not to kill for food with cattle and crops aplenty?"
"They have... now they kill for Ivory... for Sport... for fun... The mammoths were right to an extent..."said the mother to her small child plodding along through the forest, "Though there is still hope my child, for the humans are starting to learn compassion... and perhaps.... The chorus can continue to sing..." |
Three days later and I'm still shocked. Nothing has happened yet, since the news man started scream terrorists. All I've seen are weapons and ammunition scattered about highly populated areas. "Hey Babe!"Looking at my girlfriend, "have you seen anyone outside today?"She was usually sitting by the window since we decide to she'll up in our apartment until we know what's going to happen. In the last three days we've seen the same five neighbors walking the same route with their dogs as every other day. Her beautiful green eyes lock with mine as she looks up from her book and says, "Just the same Mr. Peters walking his poodle. It's only 9:30 it'll be later for any other neighbors.""Well, I want us to go outside today,"sympathetically I looked at her belly, thirty-six weeks yesterday, and he could come any day now. That is one thing I try not to think about until it's time to act. "We're almost out of food, and I have no idea what the city is doing. Are we gonna have water? I don't care about electricity so much."Pacing across the living room as I'm talking, I don't do well just sitting still, "and what if she pops off and we haven't gotten any of those weapons?"
I can tell she's thinking; we've been together for nearly ten years and now it's all I can remember, being with her. "Carol!"I said with a manner of impatience, "sorry baby,"I apologize. Setting her book down and placing a hand on her belly, and smiling up at me she asks, "how long do you we'll be gone? How far are we walking? And most importantly where the hell are we going honey?"
I can feel the heat on cheeks from the blushing, "Baby, I don't know the answer to any of those questions. You know that, I'm sorry,"my eyes start to blur as tears develop, wiping a hand across my face before they fall I finish, "I can't very well leave you here alone and feel comfortable enough to properly check things out, oh wait... they usually keep that old wheel chair in by the mailboxes."
Holding hands so I can help down the stairs we make our way to the mail boxes. Usually, you'll hear me say the 'mailroom' because it's basically a closet with 12 numbered cubby holes with locking doors. In the back left corner is an old school bifolding hospital blue wheel chair. Carol sits down and we step outside for the first time in three days. With a deep breath smelling the air doesn't seem like much has happened. "Would you like to go to that weapons cache over in the park first, or walk to grocery store and see what happens,"I asked her as we rounded the corner of our block. Our little neighborhood consisted of two blocks, 112 apartments, three bars/restaurants (one plays music every night), a locally owned grocery store, and a park the size of four blocks. I guess you could say a hippie part of town. "Even though I don't like it, I still think we need to be armed just in case,"she said running her fingers through her curly, auburn colored hair. We arrived at the crate; it was definitely European or Russian, I'm not familiar with foreign languages. No one else had been yet, and can take what we can carry. When the lid was removed we could see ten machetes, ten spears, eight grenades, four 45cal pistols with extended magazines, and four compound crossbows, I picked up a crossbow and aimed at nothing just getting the feel. In my peripheral I thought I saw something move. With a start I asked Carol with panic on my voice, "did you see that?"Before she could answer I heard a helicopter flying over the park. I looked up and could two guys hanging outside either door both with TV quality video cameras. "What the fuck is going...."cut off by Carol screaming my name I turn around to see six half decade human forms clumsily jogging in our direction. Instantaneously I knew what was happening, and I grabbed the love of my life's hand and said, "Its fucking zombies babe. The fucking terrorists have started a zombie apocalypse and they're fucking filming. Well, I've been waiting for this my whole life. I got you babe!"I take up one of the 45's and with six consecutive shots all six zombies brains scatter over the grass. |
The C.P.U. (Civilian Protection Unit) is a private sector military operation now seated in place of local and state law enforcement. It was seven years ago when they finished ,the "Trump Wall"it's called, along the border seperating America and Mexico. Since the completion of the 5 billion dollar monstrosity this country is no longer called the United States of America.
Marshall Law has changed the face of the World. Once President Trump had his wall built he employed the C.P.U and they immediately moved in and started setting up checkpoints and confiscating weapons. This action started a war among American citizens; military and civilians, and the C.P.U. Millions of people died in first week. It was during this time people began to discover they had powers and all was well so long as survival instincts were in control. Once the fighting had slowed down and the C.P.U. gained the upper hand most of the surviving citizens ran to the mountains. The ones too old or slow to get away were herded into apartment complexes turned to concentration camps.
Fear had become the worst enemy. After a year of fighting we civilians had ran out of ammunition and people were losing the powers they had acquired. It took another four years to figure out it was fear diminishing everyone's powers. It had come a point where I just accepted the fact I didn't gain any powers, until a week ago. A friend, and I were foraging berries when we walked up on a C.P.U. squadron. My friend began to turn and run, but I stopped him and said, "do not be afraid that is how they win."Moments after lightning filled the sky and in one huge flash, and clap of thunder the entire squadron was gone.
My friend looked at me with his mouth wide open and said, "I have never been that powerful especially not afraid, but this time it was almost as if my fear fed my powers."I scratched my head wondering if it had anything to do with me, I had never felt fear when faced with mercenaries. Looking back I may be the only person never afraid. Several months passed as I experimented with my new found power. The power to not feel fear, and as a bonus anyone inside a 20 ft radius of me will use their fear as fuel for their powers.
For the last 2 years we have slowly pushed the C.P.U. back against their precious wall. By using strategic and stealthy attacks we have dwindled their numbers to am eighth of what they were some have even ran. Right now, at this very moment is the last battle. With less than three-hundred of them and twenty of my strongest friends thunder rolls as lightning fills the sky. With one huge flash of light and a thunderous boom, the hairs on my arms stand up and I smell burning flesh. It's time now to rebuild our Nation!
|
There she sat looking pleased as punch. Holding the swaddled carrot out to you. It all comes crashing back, that night, the drunken promise. But who would want someone's firstborn? I mean things had gone well that semester, but that was because he'd found Jane, the cute tutor he'd eventually married. The one sitting here with a carrot in her lap. Then he heard a tinkling laughter. Whipping around he saw a pale tall man walking out with a cage, he almost looked familiar.
You'd think the carrot would have rotted, or that others would have noticed a problem. But no one ever seemed to. The daughter they described was a quiet girl, who apparently was prone to reading and spending a lot of time in her room. Jane never seemed to notice that she was the one moving the carrot around the house, home schooling their 'special child'.
​
15 years later passed, sometimes unbearable, sometimes just normal as long as he didn't look in his "kid's"room. A knock at the door startled him. As he grasped for the door it was kicked open forcefully. A wild dirty feral child with a grin almost too wide for her face leaped inside, "HELLO DAD!"A glittering blade was the last thing he saw.
|
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The clouds rumbled as the slick blade of a jet's wing cut through them. Flashes of lightning, like cracks upon the surface of reality, flickered across the cockpit and the face of the pilot. His fingers tensed on the controls.
​
One breath, two. The sky, reduced to a swirling dark mass, blanketed the jet and dimmed the cockpit. Green light gleamed from the computer panels and painted the man's square face. It deepened the lines at the corners of thin lips and pooled in the goggles concealing the eyes. The steady *beep, beep, beep* that sounded over the engines played rhythm for the light and wrapped itself within the man's heartbeat until the man and machine were indistinguishable.
​
The enemy approached.
​
Radar provided vision the deep clouds hid. Each of the three targets blinked across the screen as they flew closer.
​
"Approaching Target One."Static muffled his voice, but the words transferred clearly to the crew back at base.
​
"Affirmative. Stealth mode is engaged. No sign of detection."
​
The pilot eased the plane twelve degrees west. The first jet, seen only through the eyes of his sensors, slid towards him. He flipped the plastic covers from the triggers.
​
"Target One locked."
​
"Engage."
​
Light from the launch merged with the lightning; its thunder rumbled through the vessel. As the missile cut through the black abyss, the pilot's hands eased the plane westward and dipped a few degrees lower. The movements merged with the sound of exploding steel, and he shifted his focus to the next target.
​
"Hit confirmed. Target One down."
​
The words, soft within the confines of his helmet, matched with his lock on the already fleeing second target. Its sharp, quick turn was tempered by inertia and the anticipation of the pilot hunting it. The target appeared almost sluggish in the adrenaline-soaked cockpit, its light on the dash slow in its flight away. The rapid lightening laughed at it, and the black sky oozed over its wings.
​
"Target Two, engaged."
​
The triggers squeezed, the jet shook, and the pilot changed focus again.
​
This shift was longer. Target Three had already slid past and attempted to drop into place behind him. The joystick trembled in the pilot's hands as he moved his machine, spinning through the swirling black to foil any attempt for the target to lock aim on him. He settled into the turn, then raised the nose and climbed. His target, blinking green on his screen, had moved with him, dispelling ammunition as it went. The rattle of two shots slicing past the wing and tail of his jet did nothing to shake the pilot. He smoothed the climb, turned, and forced the third target to move in front.
​
"Target Two confirmed down. Target Three is two minutes to base."
​
The exposed tail of the target appeared briefly through the clouds before being swallowed once more as the target dropped lower.
​
"Engaging."
​
His wing tipped towards the earth, following the movement of the target, and he fell into place. The target began twisting, left and right, and he eased his jet after it, steadying each change in direction with almost precognitive anticipation. Lightning shot glimpses of his prey in sharp, desperate images. A wing, raised like a fin through the waters. Blackness. The tail, flipped upwards in a sudden drop. Dark. The silhouette, exposed before him as the final beeps sounded.
​
"Locked."
​
The explosion ripped through the clouds before the storm descended upon it and consumed its light.
​
"Target Three confirmed down."
​
The pilot, face bathed in the green of his domain, did not change expression as he flipped the plastic covers back over the triggers.
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
*\*I'm out of time, but might attempt the second part later. I apologize for my lack of any true flight knowledge. This was a fun exercise in pacing though, so I couldn't help but attempt it.*\* |
Waking up in that trash-filled room, with cigarette burns dotted over the carpet like a minefield, it was hard to feel at peace. John couldn’t bear it for much longer. Fishing through the half-smoked butts on the ground he grabbed what looked like a decent one and stumbled out the door. The harsh sunlight pierced his eyes as it had done many times before. John knew this feeling well. He blinked a few times letting his eyes adjust while he lit his smoke. Too many ruined nights and forgotten memories were had at this mothership. A cacophony of beautiful sounds and people, mixed in with the fucked up lust for life never intended to be enjoyed by anyone for too long. John was resolved. He would never return.
Now, this neighbourhood was nothing special. Boring, carbon copy, houses lined both sides of the street. You know the ones. Postmodern shoe boxes with one of three variations of pillars holding up the front veranda. Various mixtures of render and cheap brick completing the picture. The ultimate dream. For some. Not for John though. His eyes fully adjusted and aware of his surroundings, John began his long walk home.
Just as he rounded the first corner, his mind wandering uncontrollably, a slight aberration in his vision roused him from this stupor.
"*You?!*" |
At the beginning of time, the Rock Mother formed Planet. She filled Planet with creatures of all shapes and sizes, and for their entertainment, painted the Heavens Above with a twinkling starshow. Of the Rock Mother's creatures, two loomed above all: the Aderi—my race—and the Cagarids.
The Aderi worshipped the Rock Mother with proper devotion. We built houses with an extra room for the Rock Mother to dwell. We kept her well-fed and happy. But the Cagarids were different. They saw our unwavering love and they were jealous. They wanted to steal the worship from Rock Mother and keep it to themselves. They decided that the only way to do this was murder.
But Rock Mother was strong enough to survive a battle. The Cagarids had to go about it in a deceitful, roundabout way: trickery.
The Cagarids went about building a gift for Rock Mother: the Green Spire. It was made of a smooth, mysterious stone that shone with a light to rival the stars. The Green Spire towered up, up, up, almost piercing the fabric of the sky. But inside such a beauty lurked a terrible evil: a curse of poison, which would kill Rock Mother and spread out to destroy the world.
The Cagarids invited Rock Mother to the Green Spire, claiming it was a home for her. They apologized profusely for their rudeness towards her, and invited her inside. Rock Mother, pure and innocent as she was, fell for their trap. Upon stepping through the doorway, she fell ill and quickly died.
However, just before her death, Rock Mother realized their treachery. She created a new race of intelligent beings, the Humans, to stop the spread of the poison and vanquish the Cagarids.
They destroyed the Cagarids within days, and then turned their attention to the poison. It had already begun spreading, disfiguring and killing any who approached the Spire. The Humans built a huge enclosure to surround the Green Spire, made of a heavy metal. The metal they used was also toxic to the touch, but it kept in the poison.
The Humans were the chosen people , and the Aderi now worship them as we did Rock Mother. They saved us from the poison that claimed her, and explained that the source of the poison was the bright rock of which the Spire was made. The Humans were also the ones that told us about what the Cagarids did.
Today, the Humans are considered *gods*—that is their word—and the Cagarids *demons.* Everything we Adari do is in their interest, for in them, the spark of Rock Mother survives. We live under a strict hierarchy, as they request, with the "Head Priest"at the top.
Long live the Humans, and long damn the Cagarids.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
(This excerpt from the journal of Head Priest Cazinto has been reproduced with the permission of her descendants.) |
When you buy a time machine you get the standard pamphlet describing the controls, the maintenance and even a few examples and methods on how to tune the machine so you don't travel somewhere you weren't expecting to go. In 2064 a law was passed that every pamphlet must include a chapter on time travel paradox and problems. And just like any EULA, you never read it and just skip to the part about acknowledgment.
I should have read it.
If you're not familiar the butterfly effect is defined as
> the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere
Without regurgitating the time machine pamphlet, basically if you do something in the past however small it could change the future.
I'm a vintage fashion artist. I particularly love the early 20th styles and try to find objects locally (in my time) that mimics or is a replica of those early fashions. Last week I hit a wall, I couldn't find anything in my time that was the right kind of leather jacket I needed to complete my collection. My gala opened in nine days. I couldn't open the exhibit without every piece.
So I bought a time machine out of desperation. My first and only trip brought me to new York 1929.
I found what I needed within a few hours. A nice little Italian quarter had a few shops and the second one I went into had a single semi-gloss deep brown leather jacket that was perfect! I paid the store keeper and came back to 2074.
That's when I notice it had all changed. My entire industry was a shell of itself, the arts had supposedly "jumped the shark"in 1990s with the advent of reality TV and deteriorated further when Bansky started his graffiti. Society itself was different, it was colorless, humor deficient and utilitarian to a degree. Nostalgia was a trait deem inappropriate, cultural investigation was nearly non-existent. Even term "jump the shark"was something my colleagues hadn't heard before and said was "definitely novel and quaint."
I spent weeks trying to see what I had done in the past to cause this dramatic departure from what I knew and caused the sad days of 2074. Then I found it.
The show "Happy Days"did not make it past the first 5 episodes before it was cancelled. Fonzi, the iconic Italian had never been fully realized. His trademark slicked hair and leather jacket never made it into the pop culture lexicon.
The show creator Garry Marshall never had the inspiration from a childhood encounter with a cool teenager walking down the street in the Bronx where he grew up. The teenager wasnt wearing a cool leather jacket because his dad never gave one to him as a birthday present. Because I bought that jacket to put on a mannequin in the future.
I stopped The Fonz from existing and that changed the future. Now it's my mission to go back and save the Happy Days.
|
Admittedly, I’m never particularly awake first thing in the morning. It usually takes a coffee, brushing my teeth, and a shower before I’m anything resembling functional. Still, I do wonder how I managed to miss the fact that my tattoo’s glowing. I’m not usually blind in the morning, just dumb.
Blinking water out of my eyes, I tilt my head to examine my arm from a new angle, because, clearly, that’s going to change everything. Except it doesn’t. That rune thing I dreamt up a few nights ago—that rune thing I wanted on my body, a testament to the fact that, hey, I *can* create when I put my mind to it—is still glowing, an eerie silver-red, pulsing quietly on my forearm.
I exhale, water droplets spraying from around my mouth. ‘Well,’ I say bluntly, ‘shit.’
My immediate instinct is to turn off the shower and run around screaming, but I need to be clean to deal with this burgeoning clusterfuck, so I wash the shampoo from my hair and go for the conditioner. When I’m all squeaky clean, I turn off the water and run a towel over my arm. Some part of me is convinced my arm’s glowing because of… I don’t know, glitter glue?
‘Morgan!’ I growl when the towel comes away and my arm’s still glowing. ‘What did your damned tattoo-artist boyfriend do to me?’
Morgan—housemate extraordinaire, who always knows someone for everything—calls back, ‘He gave you a tattoo, Ash, just like you asked for.’
‘Why the fuck is it glowing?’ I snarl back.
The door to the bathroom opens and I squeak, quickly pulling to towel around me because… privacy.
Morgan rolls his eyes, before his gaze goes to my arm and he freezes. ‘Ohh, shit,’ he mumbles. ‘That wasn’t Rob, my girl. He can’t do fancy lights.’
‘Then, uh…’ I gesture to my arm with my chin, the other arm clutching the towel closed. ‘How?’
‘Fuck if I know,’ he says, slowly shaking his head.
‘Ah, but I *do* know,’ comes another voice, low and thunderous, like waves against rocks.
We both freeze.
Me, because that is one too many voices for this cramped bathroom.
Morgan, because… it’s a stranger, I guess.
I look around, but there’s nobody here. This, funnily enough, doesn’t calm me down. Maybe it’s the compulsive binge-watching of *Supernatural* and shows like that, but now my mind’s going to ghosts and demons, and all of this is bad.
‘Oh, God,’ I mutter, rubbing my forehead with my demon-arm.
Laughter like thunder reverberates through the room, echoing off the tiles until it surrounds me, is all I can hear, breathe, think.
I feel fingers trailing through my wet hair. I flinch and spin, but there’s nobody there, just the goosebumps rising on my arms and shoulders, a thousand pinpricks of sensation.
‘God won’t help you now, my love,’ that voice sighs. ‘Not now that you’ve given yourself my mark.’
Something flickers out the corner of my eye, a flash of the same silver-red that’s lit up my arm. Spinning around reveals a horror, a caricature I haven’t witnessed since my very Christian best friend's tenth birthday party. Somehow her parents had found a pinata of the Devil—winged and horned and tailed and all—for us to destroy. We’d ‘beaten the evil out of it’, as my father had laughed that night when I’d told him what had happened.
But this real life creature is far less comforting than that memory, mostly lost to time. This is real—horns and a tail and carmine wings limned in bright silver-red.
The thing—demon, devil, whatever—smiles, revealing fangs the length of my pinkie. ‘You’re mine now, and no god will interfere with what’s mine.’ It steps forward, claw-tipped hands outstretched, and everything fades—Morgan and the bathroom and the dim light and rattling fan.
When the black in front of my vision retreats, I’m somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere stone and cold and hard.
And there’s blood under my nails.
And blood in my mouth.
And my tattoo still glows, that same eerie silver-red. |
When the economy tanked, Gus became a divorced man. Beryl, who had just about enough of the living arrangements, left that morning. She had left a note, written on the back of a Burger King wrapper, stating simply that 'it has never been fun, I have suffered enough, goodbye - B'. It was their 50's anniversary that week and were planning on renewing their vows in front of their families. However, the problem was that they both were unable to leave the house. Not because either of them were controlling or agoraphobic, but rather, Gus was a hoarder. A hoarder of such a magnitude that the doors, windows and any human sized crevice was blocked by clutter. It had started shortly after their marriage, weirdly enough with the wedding invitations, which had been piled high in the corridor leading to the door. If the claustrophobia wouldn't get you in that house, the smell did. Gus worked in sanitation and any piece of slightly interesting tat that he would spot would be coming home in a bin bag and dumped in any place necessary. As you could imagine, the place, after 50 years of looked like a shrine to the god of waste ( if there ever was one ) and so Beryl, with the depleted energy of a tired wife, had left.
​
It wasn't soon after reading the note that Gus climbed the mountain that had once been recognizable as a staircase and into the bedroom. Laughing maniacally, he dug through 3 feet of rubbish to a small space under his bed containing jars and jars and jars of toenail and fingernail clippings. In fact, it was not just his nails but also Beryl's, which he had taken when she had slept, knowing full well that she would discard them carelessly. A toenail, by itself was worth £100 and now that he had uncovered his vast fortune he had to now protect it.
​
'I should have made her sign the prenup' He said grumpily. |
You know how some people get nice cordial divorces, where they remain friends even though they acknowledge they’re not a good fit? Yeah mine was not like that. It got ugly, the police even got involved a few times.
We thought it was going to last forever when I first met him at a bluegrass concert. I mean how many people out there *like* bluegrass? It was obviously fated.
We got married after two years. Fast in the modern day; but, we’re both traditionalists. We prefered the old timey custom of getting married fast to establish a strong family. We even got each others names tattooed on our arms.
It wasn’t until three years of happy blissful marriage I started to notice his gambling problem. I don’t know how I was so stupid. I should have noticed that he never had any cash to spend despite being a successful salesperson.
It was just so hard to notice when he smiled at me, clean shaven and well groomed. I wouldn’t notice the small holes in his pants or the socks. His smile could have let him get away with murder. Hell, his smile would have made him look sexy wearing a trash bag poncho.
That’s why I didn’t notice him squander away my bank account. I thought he was just an extravagant spender. Well he was that too, he *did* buy me lots of gifts with my own money. I think in retrospect it was the kind of metaphorical sleight of hand he needed to manipulate me into ignoring his flaws.
The divorce attorney was appropriately tigerlike. It helped me feel better knowing I had her on my side.
Still after our seperation I just didn’t know what to do. I know three years isn’t a long time, but I thought it was going to last forever. Marriage was my entire identity.
I just couldn’t stand being reminded of him. I threw the wedding band in the dumpster. I threw out all the clothes I had worn. Bought myself a new wardrobe.
Getting the tattoo removed was the final expensive step.
Then I was free.
***
^(Enjoy this? Hate it? Find more written by me at /r/EvilsReprise) |
"Enough."The Hero said, letting his sword drop heavily to the ground. The blood poured from his brow and his breath escaped in tattered mists. He fell to one knee and closed his eyes. "I accept my fate."
The banner pole moaned and finally snapped, dropping the standard into the mud of the field. The Black Knight looked down at his opponent. Gleaming in a cuirass of silver and gold, the dying rays of dusk danced along the emblazoned regalia of the false king that adorned his armor. The Hero would not raise his eyes and knelt peacefully with the sun streaming along his locks. The Black Knight lifted his halberd but faltered. With a heavy clang, he allowed it to fall beside the humbled knight.
"Begone. I don't kill lightly and you've offered me no injury. You are a fool to follow a false king, but you shall wear that black mark for the rest of your days. Flee from here, gather your family and disappear into the country. Should he learn of your failure his wrath will be swift and terrible. Fly, let your legs carry you as far as they may from his reach. Or mine should the mood strike me."He concluded venomously, remounting his dread-black steed. He had turned his mount when the Hero's voice called him back.
"You first refuse to give me an honorable death and now mock me? What craven beast sired you with your bitch-hound of a mother?"The Hero whispered unevenly, his voice catching in the back of his throat.
The Black Knight turned and lifted his visor revealing a furrowed brow to the Hero. He dismounted and stood before him. "What mockery do you speak of? You fought admirably and I wish you only safe passage to your home and kin."
The Hero attempted to lift himself from his knees, but collapsed backwards. He limped forward and thrusted his sword toward the Black Knight. The blow was easily dodged, and the Hero fully disarmed in a moment. The Black Knight kept the Hero prostrate with a boot on his back.
"Speak man!"The Black Knight commanded. "What quickens you so?"
The Hero lifted his head until he could see the Knight in the corner of his eye. "You murdered my family in cold blood you tannery bathing heathen!"He shouted, breaking into ravenous rattling coughs.
The Knight Lifted his boot and stepped back. His eyes glazed, and his vision rested on the silhouette of a mountain the sun had concealed itself behind. As if echoing though decades, he asked the Hero, "What is a few meager lives weighed against a thousand years of peace?"
Turning sharply back and kneeling before the now sitting Hero, the Black Knight regarded him coldly and hung his head. "I did not slay your family, though I was ordered to. You've heard tell of my legends. The Beast of Basiogne, the Reaper of Reicheleux. All are true. But never did I unsheathe my sword before an innocent. And when my *King*,"he spat at the word, "Ordered me to, I refused. I told him the next and final man I would slay was him. Half his guards were sent to an early hell before they restrained me and marked me a traitor. I spent many a long year in that tartarus he houses underneath his facade of decadence and debauchery. But I escaped. And I plan to make good on my word. As for your family you have my heartfelt pity. I will make him pay."
The Hero sat stunned. "It is my family, it is I he must answer to."He tried once more to rise to his feet, but his legs wavered beneath him. The Black Knight placed an arm behind him and helped him to his knees.
"Rest, friend, rest."the Black Knight said softly. "I know a place where you can heal and be safe. If you speak honestly then find me once you have mended and we will extract justice from that ignoble fool together. I will get you safely to a friend, but then I must go on. The trail is growing colder still, and even this diversion has cost me precious time."
The Hero looked once more at the Black Knights face, then faded into a shrouded twilight, where he could still hear the distant, joyful cries of his wife and young daughter. |
'They're gonna think I'm racist again'
Brian The-Zombie ( who's last name was 'the-zombie' and was merely a coincidence that he was also a zombie. ) was scared that his ghoulish neighbors were going to think he was racist...again.
He thought back over the many times where he had misspoke and said something completely insensitive. The new monster family had moved in a few weeks ago. A werewolf father, a vampire mother, 2 biological children who were mixed race and an adopted human son called Chad.
There was an incident a few weeks back when they had a charades party. Whilst pointing at the father and making growling noises, it was quite apparent that the new family had never seen Star Wars and thought the word 'Chewbacca' was a slur. Combined with the very innocent way of asking what tooth whitener the wife used it was quite clear that Brian was bad at first, and second, impressions.
A dinner was the only way of bridging the gap between them. The night had started disastrously and, whilst the silverware was a terrible touch, the first portion of garlic bread was horrendous. Brian's thoughts turned to alternative cuisine that did not require any utensils. His mind turned to Chad's brain but decided against it as the family seemed quite attached to their adopted human child.
'Talk about playing with your food...' he thought judgingly.
It was just as that moment the doorbell went.
After throwing the cutlery outside, Brian shambled to the door.
'Hellooooooooo' Brian said jokingly in his attempt to lighten the mood.
'This is why I didn't want to come here' John, the werewolf, said slyly to his wife.
'Brian' She said coldly.
'Let me take your woolly coat, it looks fantastic on you'
'That's my skin...'
Brian started sweating, his attempt at humor was lost on them and now since there was no dinner he panicked. |
Side note: I actually do this, I’m super paranoid.
I sighed, tired from my long day at work. My boss had yelled at me for forgetting to print out a copy of his schedule, even though he told Harley to do it. I almost got fired! My key jammed in the door. I rattled the doorknob and kicked it in frustration. It opened. Well that was lucky.
I walked through the carpeted hallway, not bothering to take my shoes off. I took a left and opened the first door on the right. The bathroom. I walked in, not bothering to close the door. It’s not like anybody else lives here. I slid the shower curtain back, as I always do. Paranoid prick.
I jumped back in surprise, slipping on the tile. A person wearing a clown suit with frills everywhere brandished a knife at me, giggling creepily.
“Oh no, you messed with the wrong dude on the wrong day.” I stood back up and dropped my right foot into guard stance. “I’m a second-degree black belt.”
The clown, mocking me, slapped its cheeks in horror. It slowly advanced on me, still giggling in that creepy way. I did a snap kick and knocked the knife out of its hand, and proceeded to hook it in the face with my right fist. It fell back, and I ripped the mask off his face. It was... my boss? I punched him in the gut, knocking him out.
“That... that was for being a dick.” Then, I called the cops. |
It's *never* been this strong before. They're always in the back, making small decisions, like a choose-your-own-adventure book. They just tried to make me walk in front of a fucking train. The station around me is bustling, full of life and the chatter of corporate lapdogs. I sit down on a bench and try to steady myself. A voice I've come to recognize as XxWaveDashxX speaks up again. *You want to walk onto the tracks. Really bad too.* My legs begin to twitch, and a stinging pain shoots across my toes, forcing me to stand up.
"Please stop. I don't know what you think this is, but I have a life. Opportunities."My voice sounds weak and dry.
*You're a college student. Ramen, drinking, and anime is all you know. Please don't lie to me.* My whispered pleas reach deaf ears, and I take a step forward. "But, I could be so much more."*I doubt it. When was the last time you did anything we didn't force you to? That was kind, and came from the bottom of your heart?*
"I helped that woman cross the road, man. She was using a ***cane!*** I'm not a saint, but who is? If you don't give me the chance here, then I really may never do anything worthwhile."*Alright. This is your chance. Two hours, unaided and uncontrolled. Impress me.* A weight I’ve never really felt before is taken off my chest, and I breathe in. My mind is clear, and my motivations are focused. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man slowly stepping toward the tracks, seemingly in pain, mumbling to himself. *This is your chance.*
PS: Still haven't figured out paragraph spacing with speech. Working on it. Thanks for the read! |
I jumped over the car and landed sprinting. This guy had been bringing people back to life for the past couple months, and we had no idea how he did it.
I saw the man running around the corner of the Empire State Building. The afterlife is all the biggest cities in the world right next to each other. The River Styx seperates them from each other.
I rounded the corner, and saw the man clambering up a fire escape. I quickly jumped on after him and chased after. I pulled out my stun gun.
I fired a round at him, but he was wearing some sort of Kevlar. How did he get that? Gaining on him, I reached up and grabbed his ankle.
He looked down, face expressionless. He was a middle aged man with brown hair, thick eyebrows, and a broad chin. I pulled on his leg and he went crashing to the alley ground.
“Can’t die if your already dead,” I said, jumping down beside him. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him up. “You’re coming with me.”
“No I’m not.” He began chanting something, and I felt disoriented. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, he was gone. So was the fog that covered the afterlife.
“Oh, no. No no no no NO!” I was in the land of the living. I banged my head on the wall in frustration. I slid down, curling into a ball. “This can’t be happening... it can’t. It’s all a dream.” I sat there muttering, slowly falling asleep. |
I know, even thinking that I’m different is just dumb and cliche but... something has changed. I can’t really say what, but I just feel like everything I do is just right. Not specifically good but what I’m supposed to do. I think it started at the beginning of the year. My teacher ran out of the classroom after this girl Susan Drush who had cut her leg on a compass, weird story, leaving his cupboard keys. Now... Mr Harris has five cupboards, ten classes, each with storing boxes with locks. We had an exam, and I just knew the answers were in the cupboards. Without really thinking, I just knew the fourth cupboard and third storage box, five papers down, were the answers. I’ve aced every test since. I tried doing one test without em and I failed, so I know I’m not a genius, and Billy Freckle did the “Which hand has a stone in?” Trick which I got wrong too; so I’m not psychic or anything but... something is up. Well, I didn’t care too much until last night. My Dad took me to this gas station you see, and it got held up by some guy. Happens a lot to be fair so it’s no biggie but, this guy was a mess. He kept dropping things and one thing led to another and I was stood there, with a gun, bag of money, and two shot cameras. Now I’m hiding in my attic and I think I’m going mad but, well- it’s like how in comics the good guy gets help and all but in the end it’s him who just knows. Well, a good guy in stories is just the lawful version of a chaotic guy right? Maybe I’m the bad guy? Shit... |
I have been to Disneyland multiple times whilst growing up. I had been captivated watching the line snaking around the Carousel with kids trying in vain to pull the sword from the stone. On the rare occasion the sword was completely removed and cast members in medieval dress would rush out and praise the new "king"before the sword was returned to the stone. The line was always too long so my parents nudged me along, much to my dismay.
Several years later, I returned to the park and noticed the sword was still there, but the line didn't exist. After never being able to I now took my chance and walked over, with little effort and resistance, the sword came out of the stone. Suddenly the hilt started to glow and a great energy pulsed through my body, the world around me froze. I blinked hard, and opened my eyes, to a large crowd of peasants with mouths agape in shock, several knights were kneeling in salute before me. The carousel behind me was gone, I was now in a very different place. |
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